


Damn It, Loki

by curds_and_wheyface



Category: Thor (Comics), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Elements of Cross-Dressing, First Time, High School AU, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Rocky Horror Show Performance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:55:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 40,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26954716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curds_and_wheyface/pseuds/curds_and_wheyface
Summary: Closeted rugby-jock Thor kissed tyrannical theatre kid Loki in the back room of a party and now, in return for Loki's silence, he must pay the ultimate price......joining the school production of The Rocky Horror Show.
Relationships: Loki/Thor (Marvel)
Comments: 85
Kudos: 235
Collections: Thorki Baby Bang 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is complete and will be posted over three days.
> 
> Thank you to my wonderful artist [Tear](https://twitter.com/tear_n_tear) \- the art you've created for this fic is perfect! It's been a dream working with you and getting to know you throughout this process.
> 
> You can find Tear's art here [here](https://twitter.com/tear_n_tear/status/1315367558653018115?s=20).
> 
> And thank you to the Baby Bang Mods for all of your hard work! <3

Prologue

It had been a mistake, kissing Loki in the back room of Heimdall’s party. He wasn't sure what had come over him, really, just that one minute he was nodding along while Loki ranted aimlessly into the dark, empty space and then, without any real reason, he'd leaned in and pressed their lips together.

Loki was a bossy Year 11 with a flair for the dramatic and a problem with authority, who had played lead in all the school plays since Year 8. Rumour had it that several teachers in the English and Drama departments were afraid of him.

Thor, a year older than him at seventeen, wasn't afraid of him - he'd just wanted to shut him up, and quite liked his mouth.

Thor was impulsive by nature and his confidence had been boosted by two bottles of cheap beer, so he'd gone for it without taking even a second to worry about how Loki might react. They didn't move in the same circles, but Thor had caught Loki looking at him often enough to assume that there was a vague interest.

Loki had come out at fifteen, handling any attempts at bullying with his notoriously vicious tongue. He carried himself with superiority and kept selective company, and while it hadn’t made him popular amongst the general population of the school, he certainly wasn’t a victim.

A part of Thor had always envied him.

It wasn’t so much that Thor felt tortured by unspoken desires or remotely isolated from his peers, he was - not to brag - undoubtedly one of the most popular people in school, but that in itself was part of the problem. Thor coming out wouldn’t be a moment of fleeting, titillating gossip like Loki’s coming out had been; it would be an _event_ , it would change the way people looked at him.

He’d missed his first window, his chance to come out before everybody in the school felt like they knew him, so he planned to take his second window instead. He’d plotted it in his head. He’d see out the end of Sixth Form as popular, rugby playing Thor, and then over summer he’d come out to his parents in preparation for University, where he could be popular, rugby-playing _gay_ Thor from day one, eliminating any opportunity to become gossip.

Kissing Loki had definitely not been part of his plan.

They’d kissed until Thor’s jaw ached; lying down on the scratchy carpet and making out feverishly for what was definitely most of an hour, Thor hard and hotter than he’d ever been for anyone, until eventually Loki had gasped and wriggled out from underneath him, standing up and straightening his dishevelled clothes.

Staring down at Thor, still sprawled on the floor, he’d run his thumb along his pink bottom lip, nodded, and turned to leave.

“Wait!” Thor had called, scrambling to his knees. 

Loki had looked at him oddly, disarmed, as if suspicious that Thor might be about to say something nice.

His face had hardened when, instead, Thor blurted out in clumsy panic, “...you’re not going to tell anyone, right?”

Sneering, Loki had straightened his mid-length, black coat and snapped, “Right, because I’d want people to know I let a cretinous boar like you crawl all over me.”

He’d shuddered in apparent disgust, just for effect Thor was sure, before spinning on his heel and storming out, the hem of his coat billowing out behind him like an angry, gay Batman.

Eventually reuniting with his friends, Thor had made up a story about sleeping off a headache in one of the upstairs rooms and Heimdall, with no sympathy, had shoved a bin bag at him and told him to get cleaning.

While the others distracted themselves throwing plastic cups at each other’s heads, Sif had sidled up next to him and murmured knowingly, “Weirdest thing. Loki Laufeyson just stormed out of here looking majorly pissed off.”

Thor hadn't been able to look at her, heartbeat loud in his ears. “He did?”

They'd dated at fifteen, because they'd always been best friends and it seemed to make sense, but Thor had never felt much more than a lukewarm buzz when they were kissing and she seemed to realise it before he did.

There was no doubt in his mind that she knew his secret and, more importantly, that she’d take it to her grave if he asked her to, but that didn't stop her giving him the occasional prod.

“Mmhmm, about a minute before you reappeared.”

If ever he was going to address it out loud with her that would've been an opportune moment.

Instead, he’d made a vaguely disinterested noise and said, “What a weirdo.”

**Chapter 1  
**

They don’t just move in different circles in school because Loki’s a year younger, but rather because they’re entirely different kinds of people. Thor’s place on the school rugby team has garnered him popularity, whereas Loki’s reputation is really more one of _notoriety_. Largely as a result of him being a massive drama queen - both on and off the stage.

Despite seeing each other in the hallway most days they don't talk, ever, so Thor’s startled three weeks after the party when Loki marches up to him outside the Sixth Form common room.

Thor’s crouching down to shove his textbooks into his backpack when a neatly-folded piece of paper is brandished beneath his nose.

"You're playing Rocky in my Halloween production of The Rocky Horror Show," Loki says, full of confidence. "This is our rehearsal schedule. I'll need your measurements for the costume."

Looking up at him is too reminiscent of the party, so Thor leaves his backpack on the floor and stands.

He's only got about half an inch on Loki, so he squares his shoulders for good measure. "Excuse me?"

Clasping his hands together in front of him, Loki rocks back and forth on his feet. The look he levels Thor with is one of absolute authority. "I think you heard me,” he says.

Naturally, Thor’s response is a laugh. "I did hear you, and the answer's no."

The mouth that Thor had enjoyed so much at the party morphs from its neat little Cupid's bow into a thin, unnerving smile.

"It wasn't a question. You owe me a huge favour after I allowed you to assault me on the carpet of your friend’s disgusting little house-”

“ _Assault_ you?” Thor’s disbelieving voice carries a little, bouncing off the stark, concrete walls of the hallway.

Loki acts as though he didn’t hear him, breezing on. “-and this is how I’ve decided to recoup it.”

With a shifty look around, Thor leans in closer. "You were as into it as I was. I don’t owe you anything and I’m certainly not going to be in any stupid play."

Loki’s green eyes narrow, and with barely any movement the smile somehow becomes much more sinister. "Okay. Well, I'm afraid you've left me no choice but to tell the whole school."

Thor’s stomach swoops unpleasantly, the threat taking him entirely by surprise. Forgetting himself, he reaches out to grab Loki’s elbow.

A few casual glances their way is all it takes to have him immediately letting go, heat prickling the back of his neck.

Loki notices his discomfort, and when he sighs Thor swears there's a touch of disappointment in it.

Then he shrugs, and turns to go.

“Wait,” Thor hisses, shouldering his half-open bag and rushing to step into Loki’s path. Face to face again, Loki tilts his chin up in question. Thor shrugs, hoping to display more bravado than he actually feels. “You wouldn’t do that.”

“Wouldn’t I?” One of Loki’s fine, dark brows lifts slowly. “It would hardly damage _my_ reputation, would it? You, on the other hand, you're...you know…filled with self-loathing.” 

The truth of it stings, which Thor supposes is what Loki was going for. The bell above them rings shrilly and the few people still occupying the common room filter out. The hallway empties around them as they stand, staring at each other.

Thor holds up both hands, palms spread, in surrender.

There are things about himself that he's not ready to say out loud, and definitely not ready for anyone else to say out loud, but the last thing he wants is to be disliked by anyone, even Loki. Maybe _especially_ Loki with his porcelain skin and his green eyes and his talented tongue.

"Look, I'm sorry for what happened at the party, okay? I wanted...I wanted to kiss you, alright, and I should've been, I don't know, nicer once we stopped. I didn't mean to upset you. And, technically, you were much ruder to me - you called me a brainless pig."

"Cretinous boar," Loki corrects under his breath.

Thor nods. "Okay, that. All I did was ask for reassurance that you wouldn't spread this around the school."

Loki's mouth twists in faux-boredom, but he nods for Thor to continue.

"We could be friends, you know? If you didn't...I mean, you can't do this. Don't do this. It's great that you're out and everything but I'm not ready for that, and I think ultimately you'll just end up feeling bad."

"Is this..." Loki's head tilts to the right, his lips parting in surprise. It's the most open expression he's worn since the beginning of their exchange. "Are you...attempting to appeal to my better nature?"

With a loose shrug, Thor nods. The hallway is empty so he allows it when Loki steps closer, the toes of his boots meeting the white rubber of Thor's vans. He smells good, dark somehow, and Thor fights the urge to smile. He should've known that, just like everyone else, Loki could be won over by simple charm.

Loki's pupils dart back and forth as he studies his face, the corners of his mouth seeming to threaten a smile, and Thor thinks that if Loki kisses him now he might just allow it, to sweeten the truce.

They're a breath apart when Loki's soft gaze hardens, one hand lifting to shove solidly at the centre of Thor's chest.

"I don't have a better nature," he hisses. "I'll see you in the rehearsal annex tomorrow at three thirty." 

-

Thor’s late, bursting into the free-standing rehearsal building shoulder-first with his arms full of textbooks. There’s about six people in there, sitting in a small circle in the centre of the room while Loki stands over them like a dictator, papers in his hand rustling as he gesticulates.

At Thor’s loud entrance all eyes turn to him, with the exception of Loki who sighs gently before continuing with what he was saying.

“...I’ve been informed we have to lose the scene where Frank-N-Furter hacks Eddie to death but that’s obviously not going to happen.” 

Shuffling in, Thor deposits his books on a chair by the door and quietly makes his way over to the circle of chairs in the middle. There isn’t one for him, so he stands awkwardly across from Loki until he’s finished talking.

“Uh, Loki…?” A tattooed hand raises, and when Thor turns to see who it belongs to he catches eyes with a student he knows only by his unflattering nickname, Skurge; a moniker he received in Year 8 after trying out for the rugby team and breaking someone’s leg. “What’s Odinson doing here?”

Instead of looking at Thor, Loki drops his eyes to the papers in his hand and says, without any apparent enthusiasm, “Everyone, say hello to our eponymous hunk Rocky.”

Amora, Loki’s best friend, partner in crime and oftentimes leading lady, laughs with unmasked delight. “Really?”

Her voice is smoky, the word formed between full lips painted a deep pink that, coupled with her platinum blonde hair, make her look like a doll. Psycho Barbie Heimdall had taken to calling her after their brief romance.

“Really,” Loki nods, and then he looks to Thor. His face doesn’t give much away but there’s something in his eyes that tells Thor he’s delighted too. “Isn’t that right, Thor?”

Thor would like nothing more than to walk right out of the room, but he doesn’t see that he has much choice in the matter, so he nods. Given that he’ll be spending the next month and a half with these people he attempts to muster some enthusiasm into his voice when he says, “Yep.”

“How?” Amora demands of Loki before turning to Thor. “Blackmail, right? What does he have on you?”

Everyone’s expressions turn hungry, like they think they’re about to hear some juicy gossip, and Thor isn’t too surprised given that these people thrive on drama.

He’s stuck on one apparent fact though; Loki clearly hasn’t told any of his friends Thor’s secret, not even Amora. When their eyes lock Loki’s face is entirely neutral, bored even, but Thor has to fight the urge to smile gratefully at him.

“Pull up a chair, Thor,” Loki murmurs, indicating for everyone else to make room. “You mainly grunt and look pretty but I have a script for you anyway. I’ve highlighted anything relevant to you, actions and cues and whatnot.”

He dips to flick through a large folder, pulling out a plastic wallet with a red sticker on it that says Thor/Rocky in black marker pen. He holds it out next to him so that Thor has to walk around the chairs to retrieve it, feeling several sets of eyes follow him as he does.

“Is this the whole cast?” he asks, reaching out to take it. Seems like a small cast, but since it’s not the official school play he supposes it could be a small thing.

Amora scoffs. “God no, we’re holding auditions on Friday. We’ve already had a lot of interest.”

Just as he’s taking the script a female voice, much airier than Amora’s, asks, “Can he sing?”

Thor pauses at the question, blinking down at the girl. She’s got a cute, sharp face that’s complemented by a dark pixie-cut. Her eyes are green like Loki’s.

Loki hasn’t let go of his end of the script, so they end up doing a small tug of war when Thor tries to take it. “Can you?”

“You didn’t check first?” Amora scoffs. “Did you forget that this is a musical?”

“It’s a _musical_?” Thor chokes, eyes passing around the group. “I can’t sing in public.”

Loki shrugs, finally loosening his hold. “We’ll see.”

“No, I really can’t,” Thor says, feeling that same heat prickling up his neck and throat again. “As in...actually cannot.”

Skurge points at him. “You sang karaoke at an away game last month, I saw it on SnapChat.”

Vivid memories of being on a tiny stage doing a poor rendition of Peter Gabriel’s _Sledgehammer_ flood Thor’s mind and he cringes. It had been a dare, one he’d taken to with good humour in the company of his teammates. He’d had no idea anyone was recording. “Someone posted that on snapchat?”

“Ooh, can you send it to me?” Amora flutters her lashes at Skurge.

Skurge leans back in his chair and crosses his arms, multicoloured with an array of tattoos. “Snapchat videos expire after twenty-four hours.”

“Oh thank god,” Thor says, just as Loki says, “Damn it.”

“ _Janet_ ,” The girl with the pixie-cut pipes up in an odd voice, for reasons unbeknownst to Thor. It gets a chuckle from the others.

“It’s okay,” Loki says, patting Thor on the shoulder. “We’ll go through the song together in private, if you’re not happy with it we won’t do it.”

He seems entirely sincere, so without hesitating Thor nods. “Okay, thank you.”

Skurge snorts. “He has his fingers crossed behind his back.”

“Shut up, Riff-Raff,” Loki snaps.

-

Thor spends the rest of the rehearsal in near-silence while Loki and the others discuss which characters still need to be cast, throwing around ideas for potential students and ideas for staging. Flipping idly through the script to keep himself entertained, Thor's gaze catches on a song named Sweet Transvestite and he's sure that his eyes nearly pop out of his head.

"Alright," Loki eventually says, flipping closed his dark green notepad. "I'll see you all on Friday for the auditions."

Skurge groans but agrees, and Thor notices that he grabs Amora's bag as well as his own backpack and hovers by the door while she plants a goodbye kiss on Loki's cheek.

"Um, Loki?" Thor says once they're alone, trying to sound amiable and friendly.

When Loki turns, rubbing at a smudge left on his cheek from Amora's lipstick, he makes a point of saying, "Oh, you're still here."

"This song," Thor says, scanning the lyrics with an ever-rising level of panic, "I'm just a sweet transvestite from...transexual Transylvania..."

Loki nods blankly like he's heard the lyrics a hundred times, and Thor supposes he might have.

He’s distractedly rooting in his black leather satchel, eventually pulling out a cluster of keys and gesturing for Thor to grab his things.

Thor can't believe Loki has his own set of keys to part of the school, but it's not the main focus of his attention. 

They shuffle out together, Thor still frowning down at the script. "Is this a _gay_ musical?"

Loki pauses with the key situated in the lock. "Would you care to define what makes a musical gay, Thor?"

Even the sharp turn of the key sounds sardonic and so Thor lets his shoulders drop, losing all hope of a little sympathy.

But he must look as forlorn as he feels, because once Loki turns to actually face him he sighs too, managing to inject a little more patience into his voice as he says, "It's not a _gay_ musical, but there is a plot line in which Dr Frank-N-Furter creates a man named Rocky to be his lover. It's kind of like Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein but, yes, gayer. And with songs.”

"And Rocky is me, right? Rocky Horror?" Thor says, feeling anxiety rising in his chest. At Loki’s nod he brandishes the front page in the air, pointing to the title. “I can't play the lead character in a gay play!”

His voice breaks a little. He’s not thrilled about it.

Nostrils flaring, Loki drops the keys back into his bag with a sharp clatter. “You couldn't play the lead character in _any_ play, don't flatter yourself. Luckily for, well, _everyone_ , you're only playing the _title_ character and you barely have any lines.”

With that, Loki marches down the metal steps of the annex.

It's drizzling outside, the kind of light misty rain that soaks through your clothes in minutes, so Loki moves across the quad in long determined strides, leaving Thor under the small shelter beneath the locked door.

Scrambling to shove the script in his backpack, Thor clomps down the clanging metal steps after him and rushes to catch up.

"You're trying to humiliate me, right?" he calls when he's just a few feet behind.

When Loki spins to face him his hair's already wet, tendrils sticking to his forehead like black ink.

Raindrops cling to his eyelashes as he levels Thor with an angry stare. "Humiliate you? By putting you in a play? Thor, if I wanted to humiliate you I'd have just told everybody what happened."

What happened.

Thor’s eyes drop momentarily to Loki’s mouth. “So what's the point of all this?”

“The point is that Rocky is a buff, blond man-child with more abs than brain cells. You're the only one at the school who fits that description.”

He says it like it’s the ultimate insult, and he probably thinks it is, but Thor’s been shrugging off similar insults for years. Amongst his fellow students he’s best-known for his rugby prowess, so he figures that like most other people Loki’s unaware that he’s top in his physics class and already completing applications for Imperial College London and St Andrews.

Without a verbal response Loki rolls his eyes and begins to walk again, saying nothing when Thor falls into step beside him. They’re heading for the gates, and Thor’s glad he rode in on his bike because it would take him twice as long to get home otherwise and the rain doesn’t seem to be letting up.

Loki walks like he’s proud, back straight and chin lifted, and Thor’s eyes catch on the pale column of his neck. He forgets himself for a moment, thinking back to the night at the party, how he'd gripped Loki’s throat to hold him in place while he licked into his vodka-sharp mouth.

“Yes, Thor?” Loki asks without looking over at him.

Thor clears his throat. “You're playing a frankfurter?”

“No, idiot, I’m not playing a hotdog sausage,” Loki huffs, but his lips pull into a smile and it’s such a bizarre sentence Thor can’t help but laugh too. “I’m playing Dr Frank-N-Furter. It’s just a play on Frankenstein, as I said.”

The bike rack is just outside of the gates and Thor stops there, tugging the key to his bike-chain out of the inside pocket of his coat.

"Start reading your script,” Loki says over his shoulder, not stopping. He’s heading for a black car with tinted windows; Thor can’t tell who’s driving. “Clearly it's going to take you a while to grasp it."

Thor yanks the chain free, unable to keep his eyes off Loki’s careful strut. “Wait, do we…Frankfurter and Rocky, do they kiss?"

Loki turns slowly on his heel, eyes bright and a playful - terrifying - grin on his face. "Oh yes," he says, still backing away towards his ride. "Lots."

-

Thor’s script is kind of damp when he gets home, having been shoved in the top of his backpack where the rain leaks in, so he has to leave it over the radiator in his bedroom to dry before he can read it. It’s still there when he’s called down for dinner, the now-wrinkled pages on his mind even as Balder talks with his mouth full about his very busy day in Junior School.

He’s only ten, and while he’s shy in company he always does more talking than eating at the dinner table, often waving his fork around excitedly and showering the tablecloth with food.

“You must be exhausted,” Frigga says in an overly-earnest tone Thor is sure she never used on him, pointing at Balder’s plate. “You’d better finish your dinner.”

Dutifully Balder stuffs another forkful into his mouth, feet kicking back and forth as he chews, likely anticipating his next opportunity to speak.

Frigga’s soft gaze shifts across to Thor. “And you? Good day at school?”

Odin’s eating his food with singular attention, the way he always eats anything Frigga cooks. On his feet he's an intimidating sight; broad shoulders and with a steely-blue glass eye to match his real one, but when he sits at the table the paunch of his tummy is always apparent and he's far too engaged with his food to keep up his tough facade.

“I…” Thor hums, considers not saying anything at all. “I joined the school musical.”

Balder’s little mouth opens in an ‘o’ shape, a couple of half-chewed peas escaping back onto his plate, and Odin freezes with his fork halfway to his mouth.

“Well,” Frigga says, raising her eyebrows at Odin as if daring him to say anything negative. “That’s certainly different.”

-

Mid-afternoon on Wednesday Sif’s waiting outside Thor’s physics lecture, chewing bright red gum that smells like cinnamon.

“If Dr Foster doesn't have a crush on you then how come you're always leaving her lectures five minutes later than everyone else?”

Thor flicks at the delicate silver piercing at the top of her ear. “She's helping me with my Weather and Light Waves essay. Don't you have a class to go to?”

A glance at his watch tells him she's right though; he's stayed behind too long and now he only has two minutes to get to his next class. He heads off down the corridor and Sif falls into step beside him, popping her gum.

"Your last hour on Fridays is free-study, right?"

"Yeah," Thor says, distracted. Being Sixth Formers means that they have spaces in their timetable for revision, free-study and personal time; most A-Level students spend theirs in the library but since Thor's falls on a Friday afternoon he usually just goes home early.

"Heimdall's gonna skip, he says do we want to go and see a movie?"

Thor huffs out a little laugh. Heimdall’s doing a Phys Ed diploma and his Friday lecture - Anatomy and Movement - is his least favourite. He tells them, almost weekly, that he didn't sign up for this _science shi_ t and that he's going to skip.

“What's out?” Thor asks, but before he's even closed his mouth again he remembers, with a groan, that he's under orders to be somewhere. "Wait, I can't."

"Why?"

Having already told his parents, Thor had pondered the idea of keeping it a secret from his friends for as long as possible, but he knows realistically there's no point. Either they'll start to wonder where he is after classes or word will get out.

With a sigh, he shrugs. “I'm doing the Halloween show.”

Sif snorts, shoving at him, but when he levels her with a serious look her expression snaps to one of blank confusion. “As a stage tech?”

“No, as a…” he trails off, looking over at her. “I'm in it.”

With her sharp cheekbones and her eyes pinched, she looks like a suspicious cat. “This has absolutely nothing to do with Loki Laufeyson, of course.”

“What? No.” Thor jumps - probably too quickly - to clarify. She raises a neat, dark brow. “It just seems fun.” 

Her low hum makes it clear that she doesn't believe him about Loki, but they carry on side-by-side towards the courtyard where Thor will take a left towards his biomechanics class and Sif will hopefully go...anywhere else. 

“What's the show?” she eventually asks, trying and failing to sound nonchalant.

With an exaggerated roll of his eyes, Thor, still walking, swings his backpack off his shoulder and flips the top, tugging the rolled-up, water-wrinkled script out and handing it to her.

She comes to an abrupt halt, grabbing out for his elbow when he carries on without her. He turns, surprised to find her slack-jawed and staring at him like he’s lost his mind.

“Thor are you joking? You’re playing Rocky?”

She's been pretty much the lone female in a rag-tag gang of rugby players for the last five years and she's pretty hard to stupify; Thor’s sure he's never seen her look so stunned.

“What?” he mumbles, self-conscious. “...is it a bad play?”

“Um, no, you uncultured swine,” she chastises, pulling herself together. She starts to flick through the pages, tutting at him when she sees how wrinkled they are. “It’s my favourite musical ever. Do you know if they have a Magenta yet?” 

“Uh, Amora, I think.” He shrugs, painfully uninvested in the whole thing. He can’t help but frown at the pensive look she’s wearing. “You’re not considering auditioning, are you?”

“Maybe.”

“Why?”

Slapping the script against his chest as she backs away, she levels him with a self-satisfied smile. “It seems fun,” she throws back at him, before spinning on her heel and disappearing back where they’d come from.

-

To Thor’s dismay he finds himself sitting between both Sif and Heimdall in the auditorium on Friday afternoon.

“This is so exciting,” Heimdall says. Thor can't tell whether or not he's joking.

Heimdall’s made it clear that he has no intention of auditioning, but the second Sif blabbed to him about Thor’s role in the show and her own intentions of trying out for a part, he'd insisted upon attending.

Two rows behind them, central to the stage, Loki and Amora are sitting at a table with notes scattered on it, Loki holding a wireless microphone as if he's not perfectly capable of projecting his voice.

There are a few people around, chatting excitedly in small groups, and the girl with the pixie cut - who Thor now knows to be Loki’s cousin Leah - is handing out script excerpts.

Skurge is nowhere to be found and Thor wonders with irritation how he got out of this, until the stage curtain gets dragged open on a rickety wire to reveal a figure bent nearly double in the middle of the stage.

It's clearly Skurge despite the weird stringy wig.

“Hello!” he calls in an odd, scratchy voice that makes Heimdall guffaw.

Amora lifts a script and says, half-heartedly, “Hi, I’m Brad Majors and this is my fiancé Janet Wiess. Blah blah.”

“You're wet,” Skurge says, shuffling to the front of the stage. He's got one eye wide open maniacally and the other pinched half closed.

“Yes, it's raining,” Sif whispers, just before Amora reads the line.

Thor catches Heimdall’s eye over her head.

Skurge carries on, shuffling this way and that while Amora reads lines to him. He's far more invested than Thor would've expected.

Pulling himself up, Thor climbs over Heimdall’s legs to shuffle along the row, sitting down heavily in front of Loki and Amora’s table. They're both already looking at him when he twists, elbow on the table, to face them.

“I thought he already had the part?” he says, gesturing over his shoulder at Skurge who’s now cackling wildly and talking about his Master’s affairs.

Loki and Amora both grin.

“He does,” she says with a pleased sigh. “It's just funny to make him audition.”

-

Almost everyone auditions with a part in mind, and Loki tells them well done via the microphone but then lowers it and tells Amora to list them for chorus members.

Thor stays where he is for a handful of auditions, but sitting there listening to Loki huff and murmur things like _‘mediocre’_ and _‘what did I do to deserve this?’_ all serve to make him feel bad for the auditionee and nervous about his own role, so eventually he shuffles back over to sit next to Sif.

When it's her turn Thor tells her good luck, and he feels almost bad that she has to audition for a play she actually likes when he's been handed a part against his will, but then she nods back at him with the utmost confidence.

She's already on stage by the time Thor realises she's left her script behind.

The second she's up at centre stage she turns to Loki and points a finger, putting on a surprisingly good American accent when she accuses, “You beast! You monster! What have you done with Brad?”

Glancing down at the script page she had, Thor can't find that line anywhere.

“What’s she doing?” he whispers, shoving the page at Heimdall who scans it.

Loki tilts his head to the side, appraising her with an odd look. He has always unreservedly regarded Thor’s social circle with a vague sort of disdain, but that's not the expression Thor’s reading on his face now.

Slowly, sounding slightly amused, he says, “Nothing. Why, do you think I should?”

Sif’s breathing heavily, affecting a panic. “You tricked me! I wouldn't have- I’ve never- oh my god, never!”

This time when Loki speaks he lowers the microphone and projects his voice to the stage with dramatic flare. “I know - but it wasn't all bad was it? Not really even half bad - in fact, I think perhaps you found it quite - pleasurable - Mmm - so soft so... _sensual_.”

The way he says it makes Thor blush.

Loki’s not looking at his script either, and he and Sif go back and forth like that for a while, both clearly in the moment.

Confused, Thor begins to flick through his full script to find the scene. He must be frowning, because Heimdall leans over Sif’s empty seat.

“What is it?” he whispers.

Forgetting himself, Thor shrugs. “Loki’s character is...doing stuff with Sif but I thought he was in love with me.”

It’s only when he looks up to find Heimdall looking at him oddly that he realises exactly what he said.

Heimdall bares his teeth, amused, as his gaze shifts to Loki. “Well it certainly wouldn't surprise me.”

Thor only huffs and goes back to scanning his script.

When the scene is apparently over, Leah whoops and leads everyone else in a clap. Sif’s beaming with pride up on the stage, looking at Loki for confirmation of what's surely a foregone conclusion.

Loki’s back to himself again, stoic like before, and he lifts the mic to say, “And you can sing?”

Sif nods, wringing her fingers together. “Do you want me to-?”

Holding up a palm, Loki shakes his head like he’s Simon Cowell or something.

“No need, thank you for auditioning,” he says into the microphone, before lowering it again and turning to Amora.

Thor leans closer, eavesdropping as best he can, hopeful that Loki won't deny Sif the role just because she's not one of the drama kids.

For the longest time he and Amora are just looking at each other.

“Well then,” Loki eventually says, tapping Sif’s name on the list. “Janet Wiess.”

-

“Who are you and what have you done with Sif?” Heimdall asks when she returns to sit with them, flushed and pleased with herself.

“Do you think I got it?”

Thor hands her unneeded script back to her as he says, “Oh come on, you already know you did.”

She jabs him in the arm playfully, shuffling down in her chair to watch the next audition.

Thor has a feeling she's going to keep smiling until her cheeks ache.

“Okay,” Loki calls, glancing between his list and the occupied seats. “Next we have…Fandral?”

Thor and Heimdall both sit up a little straighter in their seats.

“No chance,” Heimdall scoffs.

Fandral is Loki’s age, and the school rugby team’s youngest leading player. Lean, fast, and sure of himself, he earned himself the permanent Fly-Half spot within weeks of joining the team.

Sure, he sings in the showers and leads the chants on the bus to away-games, but Thor can’t imagine him doing…this.

But then a figure steps out from behind the red curtain, clad in a woolly vest and thick-rimmed glasses, holding himself in a theatrically nervous hunch.

“What the…?” Heimdall murmurs, jabbing at Thor with his elbow as if Thor isn’t looking at the exact same thing as he is.

Fandral, on stage, in costume.

“Dear god,” Loki murmurs. Thor can only see his right ear and the corner of his mouth, but his tight shoulders imply well enough that he’s not overly impressed. “I assume you're auditioning for Brad, then?” he says, gesturing loosely to the outfit with a delicate flick of his wrist.

Fandral nods and says, in a fake American accent, “Yessir.”

“O-kay,” Loki says slowly, “Don't call me sir. Do you have your script?”

Holding up one finger, Fandral reaches into the breast pocket beneath his woolly vest and pulls out a piece of paper folded into a tiny square. He takes his time opening it, one fold at a time.

Loki’s loud sigh is amplified by the microphone.

Once Fandral clears his throat and starts reading though, effecting a nasal tone and talking in short, nervous bursts, Loki’s shoulders relax.

“Did you know he was coming?” Sif asks both of them, though she doesn’t take her eyes away from the stage and, frankly, neither can Thor.

He’s not sure what Fandral is doing but, whatever it is, he’s sure it’s good.

“So Brad is Janet’s fiance,” Sif murmurs helpfully, clearly sensing that both of them are a bit lost. “They're this normal, boring couple who get caught up in the really weird goings-on at Dr Frank-N-Furter’s castle.”

Up on stage Fandral’s really gotten into his role, hands on hips and head tilting this way and that as he wanders back and forth across the space. Even his walk is an act, nothing like the usual loose-shouldered swagger he’s known for.

Amora reads the parts with him, her tone significantly more flirtatious than when she was reading with Skurge, and by the time they're done she's aiming a scarily wide grin at Loki.

“He's in, right?” She says, already nodding, and Fandral’s face lights up when her words echo around the hall.

Loki hums, shifting his eyes between Amora and Fandral, clicking the end of his pen repeatedly. "He's too buff for Brad, really.”

Amora shrugs. "He could always play Rocky?"

As if she's slapped him, Loki turns to her in a flash and glares. Through bared teeth he slowly answers, "We have a Rocky."

An odd feeling sprouts in Thor’s chest, brought on by Loki’s fierce protection of his role. A role that, he has to remind himself, he doesn’t even want.

Presumably finished with his audition, Fandral hops off the stage and heads for a seat amongst the others, stopping in his tracks when Loki snaps his fingers at him like he's trying to catch the attention of a dog or a small child.

“You know Brad’s songs?” Loki says, like he’s trying to catch him out.

With a scoff, one hand on his hip, Fandral smiles. “Do I know his songs…” he chuckles.

Then, suddenly he bursts into a run towards Sif’s seat, dropping himself down in front of her and singing, loudly, “The river was deep but I swam it, Janet.”

Distinctly unused to people randomly bursting into song, Thor immediately goes hot at the back of the neck, feeling as if he's about to die a little inside. And, for the first time in as long as he’s known her, he observes a blush appearing on Sif’s cheeks too.

Fandral reaches out for her hand and she lets him have it as he carries on, “The future is ours so let’s plan it-”

“Janet!” Leah pipes up in rhyme, kneeling up backwards in her chair to face the action. Every line Fandral sings after that she repeats the name, jostling the people around her until they join in too.

Thor doesn't know the song, and can't particularly vouch for it being catchy without the music to go along with it, but it seems like everybody except Loki is enjoying the rendition.

“Alright, alright,” Loki huffs into the mic, shaking his head. “That's enough.”

Fandral doesn't stop though, seemingly caught in the energy of everyone around him, hopping to his feet and spreading his arms wide. “I've one thing to say and that's dammit Janet, I love you!”

He sustains the slightly wobbly note with what Thor suspects is overconfidence, but Leah’s on her feet and everyone else is clapping, so Thor gives in and claps too while attempting to mask the bewilderment he feels at the entire thing.

“Okay-” Loki breathes into his mic, sounding slightly impatient and like he, too, is glad it’s over.

Fandral, though, who clearly doesn’t know Loki enough to recognise when he’s pushed his luck, is back on his knee in front of Sif a moment later, reaching for her hand as he sings, “The road was long but I ran it-”

Leah and a few others get halfway through an answering ‘Janet’ before Loki springs to his feet and barks out, “Enough!”, too loud, inspiring an unpleasant wail of feedback from the speakers.

Everyone snaps to attention, Leah dropping down into her seat with her shoulders up by her ears.

It's clear that Loki holds authority over the other drama kids, and when Thor looks back even Fandral has quietly deposited himself into the nearest seat.

Loki’s pinching the bridge of his nose as if everyone's giving him a headache, but after a few deep breaths he looks back up with a tight smile. To Thor’s eyes it's clearly forced, but it's apparently enough to make everybody else relax.

“Okay, so that's our Brad,” Loki nods to Amora, scanning the cast list. “Which means we still need someone to play Eddie and Dr Scott. And we have no auditionees left. Damn it.”

Across the hall Leah sucks in a breath to speak but Loki jabs a pointed finger in her direction without even looking up at her.

“Don't you dare say Janet or we’ll be looking for a new Columbia too.”

Dutifully she closes her mouth, which takes on a cute little pout, and shuffles even further down in her seat.

After that Loki dismisses everyone.

Thor tries to lead the way but only ends up by the door waiting while Heimdall and Sif compliment Fandral on his audition. From his vantage point he can see how stressed Loki looks and he feels, for the first time, a twinge of sympathy for him.

“Odinson,” Fandral says, holding out a hand.

Thor shifts his eyes away from Loki to accept the handshake, surprised when Fandral doesn’t let go right away.

“I just want to thank you,” he says, looking earnestly into Thor’s eyes. He’s so handsome Thor finds himself blinking too much and shifting his gaze away. “I would’ve never had the guts to get involved in something like this if I hadn’t heard that you were in it. I think it’s really courageous of you to normalise theatre this way.”

Thor blinks some more. “Uh, yeah,” he says.

“Sif here says you're playing Rocky,” Fandral nudges him. “As far as I'm concerned that's the ultimate compliment. You must be super excited.”

Thor’s smile is tight-lipped as he pulls the door open. “Yep.”

Everybody files out, and Thor hangs on a moment but Loki doesn’t even look over him, never mind appear to be preparing to leave.

-

“-and he didn't catch me but he said he did, and we were behind the crumbly bike shed so nobody saw how I jumped to safety before he got me. I was clinging to the railing like Spider-Man way before he got to me but he said I wasn't!”

Balder, standing on his step so that he can reach the sink, holds out the dishcloth as he chatters away. Thor passes over another plate and reaches back into the sink.

It used to be Thor up on the step, carefully taking washed plates and cups and cutlery from his mum, feeling grown up because he had a chore. Now it's him doing the washing, and Balder beside him practically bouncing on the step as he talks in almost annoying detail about a game of Zombie-Tag he played in school.

“And then what did you do?” Thor asks, with a practised patience. He's got too much whizzing around his own head to really focus on Balder’s inane story, but he doesn't have the heart today to be faced with the downtrodden, dejected expression that washes across his little brother’s face whenever Thor dismisses him.

Balder shrugs. “I just let him say he tagged me. I don't mind being a zombie anyway.”

Huffing to himself, Thor swirls his hand around in the bottom of the bowl to find any stray knives or forks hiding beneath the bubbles. He's elbow-deep in suds when his phone rings.

Wiping his hands off on his jeans, he ruffles Balder’s hair as he tugs his phone out of his back pocket and heads out of the kitchen.

It's a number he doesn't recognise. “Hello?”

“So your friend Sif is a pleasant surprise.”

“Loki?” Even without a verbal response he can tell Loki’s rolling his eyes. Lowering his voice and heading up the stairs, he says, “How did you get my number?”

“Nevermind that. I'm only calling to tell you to check the pocket of your backpack.”

Halfway up the stairs, Thor pauses. “My backpack?”

Loki waits, uncharacteristically quiet, on the other end as Thor trudges back down the stairs to his backpack, still on the floor beneath the coat hooks where he dumped it. The zip opens with a sharp buzz, and Thor’s fingers catch on the corner of a CD as he reaches inside.

It's old, clearly well-loved, with scratches on the plastic and a tear in the liner notes. On the front is a man with thick, dark eyebrows and shiny red lipstick.

“It's the soundtrack,” Loki says in response to Thor’s silence. “Save my number, let me know what you think.”

Thor doesn't even have a CD player anymore, but once he's in his room he sticks it into his laptop and listens - headphones in, of course. He's already read the lyrics, he doesn't want his family to hear them filtering out of his bedroom.

After just two songs Thor writes a text message.

This is the weirdest thing I've ever heard. 

-

**Rehearsals: Week One**

Loki’s waiting by the bike rails on Monday morning, tapping the metal end of a long claw-handled umbrella between the toe-points of his black shoes. For a moment Thor panics that Loki was expecting his CD back - he doesn’t have it - but instead he unfolds a neat piece of paper and slips it into Thor’s hand.

“The final rehearsal schedule. I’ve organised most of Rocky’s scenes to be rehearsed around your rugby days,” he says, and then with his face pinched in concentration he leans closer and slowly brushes a browning leaf from the shoulder of Thor’s coat.

The contact, so casual and considerate, lingers in Thor’s mind for the rest of the morning.

-

The play will be in eight weeks, with weekday rehearsals until then. Loki presents a Powerpoint presentation during their first rehearsal, which seems like overkill to Thor but everyone else goes with it so he does too. Loki says that he doesn't believe in rehearsing once a week for a long time, preferring to workshop the play intensely for a few weeks until everybody knows it by heart.

Thor can't make Tuesday or Thursday rehearsals because of rugby practice and, as promised, Loki has made sure he won’t miss much on those days.

“Sif can help you catch up, no?” he says with a shrug, barely looking up from the script he’s scribbling extensive notes in. “Or I can.”

Thor waits by his side for something more than that, wondering if perhaps that’s Loki’s way of suggesting they spend some time together, but Loki doesn’t lift his head again, muttering to himself about Skurge exiting left as Fandral and Sif enter right.

Thor leaves him to it.

-

On Friday’s rehearsal they're doing what Loki calls a ‘rush read’ where he stands in the middle of the circle and they go through the script at twice the normal speed, with him dictating the stage actions even as they speak. It hurts Thor’s head but since he doesn't have many lines he at least can’t make a fool of himself.

“Blah blah blah,” Loki murmurs at one point, flipping to the next page. “And then Frank-N-Furter kisses Rocky, end scene. We open the next scene with-”

“Uh, Loki?” Skurge raises his hand. “There's no kiss there in the script.”

Frowning, Loki pauses and reaches out for Skurge’s script. “There isn't? Let me see that…”

He takes it with a snatch, holding it up and scribbling - rather violently - across the entire page in big black pen, _‘Frank kisses Rocky. End scene_.’

That done, he tosses it back to Skurge with a pointed look and clears his throat. “We open the next scene with Riff-Raff shutting his mouth and letting the director do his job.”

Beside Thor, Sif raises her eyebrows and whispers, “Oh-kay…”

-

**Rehearsals: Week Two  
**

Nothing changes during school hours, aside from the occasional nod as Thor and Loki cross paths in the hallway, but after hours he and Sif are well and truly welcomed into the fold, playing weird warm-up games that dissolve into fits of laughter, sitting around for script read-throughs and, eventually, brief sessions of acting out scenes in front of each other.

Thor finds that he likes them all, even Amora who spends her time either smouldering at him or rolling her eyes meanly whenever Leah forgets her lines and Loki says nothing.

“Just because she’s your cousin…” he hears her mutter one day as they’re leaving. Loki doesn’t even bother replying.

Thor likes Leah, not just because she reminds him of a softer, friendlier version of Loki but also because she’s taken to whispering explanations to him whenever somebody makes a reference to something he doesn’t understand.

Sif already knows all her lines but listens with surprising openness to Loki's suggestions on her delivery, and a few times Thor even catches her aiming a soft smile in Loki’s direction when he's not looking.

Thor's character mainly stands around grunting or looking confused, but Loki demands precision from Thor with regards to where he'll stand and when, repeating the importance of ‘hitting your mark’ over and over.

Being in the right place at the right time is something which has thankfully already been drilled into him from remembering countless rugby plays, and overall Thor feels much less useless than he'd imagined he would.

-

**Rehearsals: Week Three  
**

It's Monday again, and they're rehearsing on the stage instead of the cold annex they usually use. Loki has opened the curtains and sits in various seats taking photographs while the others try to remember where they're supposed to stand during each scene. He’s got an old camera which clacks loudly when he cranks a lever on top and clicks with equal volume with every picture he takes. He says he's taking the pictures so he can decide how the lighting should look and which props should go where.

He’s already had them developed by Tuesday, according to Sif when they talk on the phone after rugby practise.

“Wouldn't surprise me if he had his own dark room,” she says thoughtfully. “He seems the type, doesn't he?”

Thor grunts noncommittally, despite being able to picture it clearly; Loki masked in the glow of a low, red bulb, hanging photographs with care as they slowly bloom into existence.

Sif laughs like he’s entirely transparent.

By Friday, back in the annex, they've split off into pairs to rehearse specific scenes, and since most of Sif's scenes are with Fandral that leaves Thor with Loki in the corner behind the clothes rack where there's a set of old, comfortable chairs. Initially Thor assumes that Loki will spend the whole session saying his lines and expecting Thor to grunt in appropriate places, but instead Loki turns to Thor with one foot tucked up beneath himself and rests his chin on one hand.

It's cold and his black sleeve is pulled up over the palm of his hand, just his fingers peeping out. In this environment, with these people, he's unguarded, his expression relaxed.

"You know what I think?" he says without any build up.

Thor's script crackles as he pinches the pages between his thumb and forefinger. “What?”

He feels weirdly nervous, like an animal penned in with another, half-hidden from the others by ruffles of lace and sequined corsets.

There's a pleased pinch to Loki’s mouth, like he’d smile if he wasn't too cool for it. “I think you’re enjoying yourself.”

Thor’s mouth opens around a denial, ready to remind Loki that he’s been coerced to be here, but he knows that it’s the truth. It’s a different kind of fun than being with the team - using practice as an excuse to rough each other up, exchanging banter and singing crude songs about their rivals on the bus to away games - but it _is_ fun, undeniably.

He lifts one shoulder.

Loki’s laugh is quiet and pleased, like maybe he knew all along Thor would fit in here just as well as he fits in with the rugby team and the brainboxes in his physics class.

“You know-” Loki starts, before he’s interrupted by Skurge’s voice from the other side of the clothes rack, muffled slightly by the fabrics that hang from it. He's doing the weird voice again, the one he's adopted for his character, and Loki presses his lips together, shaking his head slowly. From what Thor can tell, Loki holds Skurge with a sort of fond disdain, as if his presence in the room both pleases and sickens him.

Once they've moved off across the room together, Skurge ambling behind Amora like a faithful servant, Loki doesn’t finish whatever it was he’d been planning to say.

Thor fills the silence instead. “I didn’t know Skurge was into drama.”

Loki’s lashes are long and naturally dark, and they brush the tops of his sharp cheeks as he blinks slowly in profile. When he glances over at Thor it's with an odd look, as if Thor’s missed something obvious.

“He’s not.” He clucks his tongue. “He’s into Amora. Follows her around like a sad little dog. It’s so pathetic it’s almost cute.”

His cynicism doesn’t surprise Thor at all, it fits so neatly with his mean reputation, but having seen how much effort he puts into his drama endeavours and witnessing his endless patience with Leah, Thor’s starting to wonder whether Loki’s whole persona is anything more than a carefully constructed character.

On cue, Amora passes by them again with her Skurge-shaped shadow.

“They’re together?”

Loki’s scoff is louder than necessary. “Don’t let her hear you say that.”

“Loki!” Leah whines from somewhere across the room, stomping her foot too by the sound of it. “How am I supposed to learn any of this song without an Eddie?”

With an eyeroll, Loki unfolds himself from his chair.

"Can you stay afterwards?" he asks Thor, checking the time on his phone rather than looking at him directly. "If I'm not keeping you from anything I need to measure you for your costume."

Thor lifts one shoulder, wondering if that means it’ll be just the two of them. "You were joking when you said gold hot pants, right?"

Loki turns bright eyes on him then. "How annoyed will you be if I say no?"

Thor's only response is a sigh.

-

Thor’s shirtless and Loki’s on his knees.

It’s even colder than usual now that the school has been empty for a few hours, all of the radiators having long gone off, and Thor’s attempting to subtly palm one of his nipples to fend off the bite of the cold. Loki doesn't appear to be paying him much attention, apparently focused on the tape-measure he’s winding around Thor’s waist, pen held between his teeth.

It turns out that the racks of lacy dark fabric that they spent the session hidden behind are actually bits and pieces of everyone’s costumes. Thor’s surprised to realise that it's Loki himself who’s been working on them, coming here during lunch or staying late after rehearsals to sew tiny sequins onto second-hand corsets that he claims to have acquired cheap from a kink website.

Thor’s ninety percent sure he’s joking.

“How come there’s so many?” he asks, running his fingers along one of the finished corsets to distract himself. His upper body may be feeling the cold but there’s been a steady flow of blood heading for his groin since the moment Loki slipped down to kneel in front of him.

He can't help it, as far as his porn-addled brain is concerned there's only one thing that happens when a twinky goth kid gets on his knees in front of the school athlete.

The corset feels itchy and unpleasant beneath his thumb, like it’ll scratch whoever has to wear it, but Thor’s need for a distraction has him rubbing harder, clumsy and repetitive.

“Hmm?” Loki glances up, all green eyes and long lashes - and that's worse, Thor can’t bear to look at him for longer than a second.

“Corsets,” Thor says, when he remembers that he asked a question. “How come there’s so-”

Mid-sentence his thumb slips, catching beneath a patch of shimmering sequins and forcing them upwards, snapping the thin thread holding them in place and sending them fluttering down to the ground.

Loki pauses only long enough to register what’s happened before leaping up to see the damage, notepad and pen forgotten on the floor. Snatching the corset off the rack, he stomps over to the workbench a few feet away.

“Sorry,” Thor mumbles, feeling clumsy and stupid, watching as Loki immediately begins to thread a needle. He misses the eye a few times in frustration before lifting the frayed end of the cotton to his mouth. 

Mesmerised by the furrows of concentration marring Loki’s pale brow, and the way he slides the thread across the tip of his tongue before lifting the needle into the light again, Thor doesn't hear the door creak open.

“Oh wow…”

He jumps a little at Amora’s sudden appearance but Loki doesn't even flinch, dropping his chin to focus on his needlework.

Amora’s leering unsubtly when she steps up to Thor’s side, and he crosses his arms over his chest again, casually as he can. She smells nice, and her blonde hair sweeps satin-soft against him, but her presence makes him too uneasy to enjoy the attention.

“You were right, Loki,” she drawls, dragging her eyes along the length of him. “He’s going to wear the hell out of those gold shorts.”

Trying not to shift away from her, Thor looks back to Loki only to find that he's turned his back on them. He's looking down at what he's doing, tutting to himself, and Thor feels guilty all over again, vowing to never again touch any of the costuming or props unless they're intended for him.

“You'll look great,” Amora tells him in a singsong half-whisper, lifting one delicate hand to touch his stomach. Vanity has him clenching his abdominal muscles and she smiles, wolf-like, in response.

“You don't need to stroke his ego, Amora,” Loki intones with his back to them, sounding utterly bored. “Or his abs.”

He hasn't turned to face them, but there’s a little circular mirror just to his right and Thor catches his green eyes in it.

“So...I wear nothing but very small shorts for the whole play?”

The idea of it isn't Thor’s favourite thing, but he knows he looks okay naked and having seen Frank-N-Furter on the front of the CD he suspects Loki will be drawing most of the attention.

Amora giggles and says, with a tone, “Are you telling me you haven't even googled the show? It's very famous, Thor.”

He shrugs. It hadn't even occurred to him.

Amora’s eyes slide to Loki and there's an unnerving brightness about them. “I assume,” she says slowly, “he doesn't know about the corset?”

It's become Thor’s instinct is to assume that Amora is telling little lies to cause trouble, it seems to be a favoured pastime of hers, but he knows immediately this time that she's telling the truth - mostly because of the look on Loki’s face in the mirror; frozen, a little guilty.

“...I can't wear a corset,” is all Thor says, trying to keep calm.

He accepted the part in the play (under duress, granted), he accepted the gold shorts, accepted that he’d have to dance and sing and kiss Loki in front of an entire audience, but to do any of it in a corset feels like one request too many.

Any guilt on Loki’s face melts away with a roll of his eyes. He thinks Thor’s just being stupid, as much is apparent in the tone of his voice when he dismisses Thor with a bored, “Of course you can.”

Obviously for him dressing up and wearing costumes is a normal part of life, how could he possibly appreciate how nervous the idea makes Thor?

Amora, seemingly oblivious, sweeps her hand up and along Thor’s bicep again to rest at his shoulder. Her nails, pointed like claws and painted a glittery green, dig in a little as she squeezes his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him. “You’ll look great. Way better than Skurge.”

Loki nods, as if she’s made a great point. “Exactly. Everyone will be wearing one, you'll look ridiculous if you’re the only one who doesn't, trust me.”

A few weeks ago it would’ve seemed like a laughable thing to say - of everyone in the school, Thor’s sure that Loki is the last person anyone would put their trust in - but having got to know him a little better, Thor lets his tense shoulder drop out of Amora’s hold, and nods. “I'm trying to trust you but you keep throwing surprises at me.”

Dismissively, Loki goes back to his needlework. “Hardly a surprise. Most normal people would've watched the show for themselves by now.”

And Thor had meant to, he really had, but between his A Level work and his sports and rehearsals too, he's hardly had time to even think about it.

Amora bounces up onto her tiptoes. “Ooh! You can come over to my house to watch it!” she’s practically buzzing, giddy, and Thor tries not to look alarmed as he meets her eyes. Voice dropping, she leans impossibly closer. “I’m allowed boys upstairs.”

“We've already made plans,” Loki says sharply, fully dropping his attention from the stitching this time. He glances at Thor but his expression is unreadable.

Thor takes up the lie with a nod, grateful that Loki seems to have picked up on his resistance. Amora’s brand of gorgeous is the predatory, manic kind, and the last thing Thor wants is to spend any excess of time with her.

“Tomorrow afternoon.” Loki slides his eyes to Amora and says, casual, “I’ll need him to try his costume for size this weekend so we’re going to watch it then.”

It’s so feasible, and said with such assuredness, that momentarily Thor wonders if they really did make plans and he's simply forgotten about it.

“Oh,” Amora shrugs, letting her hand drop from Thor’s bicep finally. She doesn't question the truth of it. None of them seem to question Loki. “That’s a shame.”

With Amora’s attention diverted, Loki drops his eyes to his work again. Thor can't help but watch him, taking in the way his lips purse in concentration. He finds himself wishing that he really was going to Loki’s at the weekend, that it was a thing they did.

“Right,” Loki sighs, squinting down at the corset. “That'll have to do for now.”

When he gets back to Thor’s measurements, threading the tape around his waist with efficiency, he barely touches him this time. Maybe it's Amora’s presence or maybe it's because he's in a rush, but his knuckles only barely skim Thor’s skin and he doesn't look up at him through his lashes again even once.

Not long after that they lock up, the three of them walking together across the dark school yard.

The clicking of Amora’s heels echoes off the empty buildings around them and she shivers in the cold, squeezing in close between them. “It’s not just me who finds this place spooky, right?”

Loki’s hand brushes Thor’s neck as he puts his arm around Amora’s shoulders. She tucks into him, shoving both of her hands into his pocket. If Thor didn’t know better he’d assume they were a couple.

“I like it better like this.” Loki looks around over the top of Amora’s head. “Empty of idiots.”

“Empty of teachers too,” Thor chimes in.

Loki’s huff of laughter sends up a whisp of white into the air. “That’s who I meant.”

They’re still laughing when they get to the gates, and that black car is there again to pick Loki up. Amora rushes over to it and slides into the back, greeting whoever the driver is.

Loki pauses by Thor’s bike. “So.”

“So I'll see you tomorrow,” Thor says before he can lose his nerve.

The answering furrow in Loki’s brow is accentuated by the stark, yellow street light above them.

“To watch Rocky Horror.” Thor reminds him, making it a statement rather than a question.

There's something in the openness of Loki’s surprise that tugs at Thor, something he’s only seen once before on that usually-aloof face. At the party, tired of hearing Loki snark and take stabs at other party-goers, Thor had tugged him in by the collar of his black t-shirt and silenced him with a kiss; closed-lipped but solid enough to shut him up.

He'd pulled back after a few seconds, surprised at himself and willing to blame the beer, only to find Loki wearing the most disarmed expression, eyes uncharacteristically soft with surprise and lips parted around a breathy “oh”.

That's what had made Thor kiss him again, longer and deeper, insinuating his tongue alongside Loki’s own and guiding him backwards until they were tangled together on the floor. That's what had made him accept Loki’s knees squeezing possessively at his hips and those long, demanding fingers in his hair.

It's what made him think maybe he could like Loki for real.

“Oh,” Loki says now, quickly blinking away his surprise. “Okay then.”

-

After spending the morning with his friends - including Fandral who they’ve now fully adopted into their group - Thor grabs the written directions Loki gave him and jumps on his bike.

The journey includes more uphill stretches than he'd imagined, and by the time he's standing at Loki’s front door he's aware of a dampness at his armpits. Just before knocking he lifts his arm and has a quick sniff.

It's Loki who opens the door.

The house is so tidy it looks almost as if nobody lives there, with clean, egg-shell-blue walls that contrast the black banister of the wide staircase. The living room, what Thor sees of it on his way past, is decorated similarly, with black furniture and a deep blue rug.

Loki leads him into the kitchen and gets them both a bottle of water before heading back out into the hallway. The house feels empty, quiet, so Thor expects to be herded into the living room. 

Loki’s got one foot on the bottom step when he turns back and says, “Would you like to come up?”

His bedroom furniture is all black too, an apparent theme in the house, except that instead of eggshell walls his room is painted a dark green. It’s a middle-sized room, with only a single bed, so the dark walls give it an almost cave-like feel.

A horizontal bookshelf, bursting with novels and DVDs, is suspended at the head of the bed, beneath which Loki’s pinned a set of fairy lights.

Opposite the bed, beside a tall wardrobe, is a classic style Hollywood dressing table, complete with bulbs surrounding the mirror, and Thor would laugh except he’s certain that Loki isn’t being ironic.

Everything is neat and tidy with the exception of a small cork board next to the window on which Loki has pinned lots of overlapping images. Thor can only see a few of them from where he’s standing; a couple of classic horror movie leaflets and one large photograph of Amora planting a kiss on Loki’s cheek.

“This is nice,” Thor says as he glances around the room, slipping his hands into his pockets to help him resist touching anything.

Loki hums, running his finger along the DVD spines in search of Rocky Horror. His back is turned, so Thor steps closer to the cork board. 

Most of the pictures are of Loki and his friends on stage in various productions that Thor hardly remembers; period costumes, army uniforms and one where they're all in black suits.

Right in the centre of the board is a picture of Loki standing in between two taller, broader boys who share his onyx-black hair and pale skin. The taller of the two is standing to Loki’s left with his arms crossed and his narrow face twisted sourly, the other has his arm flung over Loki’s shoulder and his slightly rounder face bears a deeply-amused expression. Loki looks mildly annoyed by the intrusion into his personal space, but the fact that the picture has pride of place on his board betrays his true feelings about the embrace.

At the bottom left there's a photograph unlike any of the others though, featuring neither Loki and his friends or a scene from a play. It's mostly the light green of well-trodden summer grass, a few patches of brown here or there, halved by a white centre line.

It’s covered by two other pictures that overlap it on either side, but Thor knows what it will be before he’s even lifted the others away.

It’s the school rugby field in all of its glory, the team mid-game with their mostly-white kits full of mud and grass stains, and right there in the middle of the photograph, half turned away from the camera, hands outstretched for the ball and a look of deep concentration on his face, is Thor.

The school haven't changed the rugby kit in years so Thor has no way of knowing how old the picture is, how long it's been up in Loki’s room. There's every possibility that it’s been there for a few years, that even when they were strangers Loki had harboured a secret fondness for him. A crush, even.

He feels oddly smug about it.

Loki clears his throat, and Thor let's the two pictures fall to overlap his image again. When he casually turns away from the board, Loki’s wearing an odd expression, like he's annoyed Thor found the photo and is just daring him to say something about it.

Instead, Thor let's his eyes shift to the circulating DVD menu and says, “Shall we then?”

-

It doesn't take long before Thor is fully invested. He's perched on the edge of Loki’s bed with his elbows on his knees, laughing along. It's even more absurd than he'd imagined from their rehearsals, and there are lots of elements that Loki has had to simplify for the version that'll play out on their shoddy school stage.

Loki had set him up with some snacks; a half-eaten mega chocolate bar that he said was his brother’s and a giant share-pack of crisps. 

Loki had taken a handful as they settled in and now Thor, without meaning to, has eaten the rest.

The packet crinkles as he rests it sheepishly down beside himself, but Loki doesn't look up.

He’s sewing again, on a chair in the middle of the room with one leg crossed over the other, but he still laughs at the appropriate parts and even hums along to the songs.

“You love this, huh?” Thor says after Loki dramatically anticipates Frank’N’Furter’s bark of laughter to the very second.

At that, Loki does glance up from his sequins.

“I love this,” he agrees, the corner of his mouth lifted. “It's the weirdest, most ridiculous and wonderful show.”

And while Thor doesn’t share the same level of enthusiasm, he does find himself enjoying it.

They haven't rehearsed any of the scenes that are supposed to include the character Eddie because they haven't cast him yet, but watching Meatloaf dance around the screen Thor can't help but be reminded of his friend Volstagg from the rugby team. He's the Loosehead Prop so he's physically the biggest player on the team, but he's also the biggest clown, always the first one to initiate harmless pranks or suggest cajoling Coach into letting them stop for well-earned burgers on the drive back.

“Do you know Volstagg?” he says, fairly sure he'd be up for getting involved if Thor asked.

Loki smiles, tugging his phone out of his pocket and tapping around a few times before holding it out for Thor to take.

He's admittedly a little surprised to find a text conversation between Loki and Sif; he hadn’t realised they were friends now.

He can't see all of the conversation but it's clear enough they're talking about Volstagg.

[ ](https://freeimage.host/)

The messages aren't much more than costars discussing their show, but they're clearly not the only messages that the two have exchanged and Thor’s tempted to scroll up to find out what else they talk about.

Horribly, it occurs to him that they do have something in common other than a love for Rocky Horror.

He thinks about kissing Sif, how it had been pleasant enough and comfortably familiar but never exhilarating, always leaving him feeling as if he'd let her down. He’d spent a long time after their lacklustre breakup wondering if he just lacked the skill and passion to make a relationship exciting.

Kissing Loki had proven that theory wrong, lighting a fire in his belly and leaving him painfully hard.

The thought of them talking about that, comparing him, makes him beyond uncomfortable and he can't help himself in the end, handing the phone back and saying, casual as he can, “Do you ever talk about me?”

Immediately he's sorry he asked, when, voice dripping with sarcasm, Loki tucks his phone back into his pocket and says, “Oh yes, Thor, all day long. We just gush about how handsome and perfect you are.”

Not exactly fond of being made fun of, Thor slouches down further on the bed and turns back to the screen. Next time he glances over though, Loki’s smirking down at his sewing and, against his will, Thor can't help but smile too.

Rocky’s on screen again so he focuses back on the movie. The guy has a good body, no doubt, with abs much more defined than Thor’s, but he’s not as attractive as Thor had expected considering how much Loki has gone on about him.

He lets his eyes slide back to Loki, who is holding up the latest corset for careful inspection. “You think he's handsome?”

Letting out a thoughtful hum, Loki seems to really study the actor on screen, head tilted and eyes narrowed. “Perhaps not,” he eventually says fondly, “But he was my first crush, so I have a soft spot.”

Thor’s pretty sure his first crush was Raphael, the teenage mutant ninja turtle. He decides not to mention it.

“My oldest brother Helblindi played this movie for me when I was eleven after he caught me with his girlfriend’s tights on,” Loki says then.

The image is hardly a stretch of the imagination, little Loki prancing around in girl’s clothes. Thor glances at the photograph of Loki with his brothers, wondering which of the two is Helblindi.

“I loved it,” Loki breathes. “Especially Frank-N-Furter. I’d never seen a man wear makeup or flirt with another man, and I asked Blindi why he was doing that.”

He laughs then, but Thor can’t help but notice that there's no warmth in it.

Loki’s thin lips roll together while he seems to decide whether or not to finish his story.

After another moment he shrugs. “He said ‘because he's a queer, like you’. And I just said ‘oh’ because I didn't know it was an unkind thing to say.”

Loki’s voice sounds normal, stoic, but his lips are downturned at the corners and Thor feels an ache pang in his chest. He can’t imagine ever saying something like that to Balder.

“Does your little brother know you're gay?” Loki asks, like he read Thor’s mind.

Thor shakes his head. “He's only nine. Nobody knows really. Nobody except you.”

“And Sif,” Loki adds. “Sif knows.”

A brief, helpless laugh lifts Thor’s shoulders. Sif definitely does know, despite the fact that he’s never said it out loud to her.

Loki is observing him carefully. “And if your family did know? Or your team?”

Just the thought of it is enough to make Thor’s palms clammy, even though he knows it shouldn't. His mum would be fine, his dad would come around, and Balder, he thinks, would enjoy the information for a week or so before forgetting about it.

The team might be another matter. Probably not Heimdall, or even Hogun or Volstagg, but the others?

“They’d be fine,” he says with more confidence than he really feels. “None of them would call me a queer, I don’t think.”

Loki smiles. “Blindi isn't all bad. Dad says he's ‘damaged’ because he's the only one who remembers our mother.”

That's another story, one that Loki likely isn't going to expand upon. Thor knows, from school gossip, that Loki’s mum died when he was three, but he knows none of the details and he isn't about to go rooting for them now.

“He let me keep the tape,” Loki’s voice is lighter, swerving away from the topic. “I watched it every Friday night when I was allowed to stay up late, cooking up all sorts of fantasies about building my own half-naked man to keep as my pet.”

Loki’s trying to make Thor blush, his mask firmly back in place, but Thor only grins and says, “Your sex pet?”

Loki snorts. “Probably not when I was eleven, no. I think I just wanted to run around a mansion singing with him. But later I suppose...yes.”

That last syllable comes out raspy, low. Thor’s mind, for a moment, goes down an unsavoury path. He clears his throat. “So it's your dream role, then?”

“Yes,” Loki says with certainty. “But only because nobody would ever cast me as Grizabella in Cats.”

Thor gives it a moment before saying, earnestly, “There's a musical about cats?”

Loki throws the corset at his head.

-

It's only just after four when the credits roll, and Thor waits a moment for awkwardness to set in now that the purpose of his visit has expired. Loki doesn’t even look at him though, cutting the thread free with a sharp snip and turning the material this way and that so the sequins catch the light.

“How does it look?” he asks, holding it up.

Thor supposes it’s a rhetorical question, but he answers anyway with a slow, “...shimmery.”

He watches as Loki gets up and moves towards the wardrobe, hanging the corset up alongside a line of others. He turns his eyes to Thor, considering him for a moment.

“This one’s yours,” he says, rifling through to pick out the largest one. It's black and decorated with matching sequins, wide at the top and cinching down to a tight waist. It looks as if it'll fit just over Thor’s ribs. He eyes it curiously, instinctively wanting to reject the notion of wearing it when Loki holds it out. “Want to try it on?”

Thor shakes his head but he takes it anyway, just to look at.

He hears the hangers squeaking again as Loki locates another one, pulling it out too and closing the door. It's red, like the one Frank N Furter wore at the end of the movie, and Loki tosses it over the back of his chair before yanking his t-shirt up over his head.

His torso is smooth and pale as porcelain, with small, dusky pink nipples. Thor swallows, leaning back against the wall to watch.

On the hanger beneath the red corset is a pair of black knickers and, clipped to them, matching lace stockings. He aches to see Loki in them.

Loki points to Thor’s corset.

“Come on,” he says. “We need to check that it fits.”

Reluctantly, Thor stands and holds the corset up, frowning deeply at it for a moment. He can imagine all-too-well the mockery that wearing this would earn him.

“I don't want t-”

His objection drops out of the air like a dead bird when he looks past the material and finds Loki with his back turned, white arse bare and the knickers halfway up one thigh. There isn't a single hair or blemish on him anywhere, all smoothly toned thigh and rounded buttock, and as he lifts his knee to step into the other leg of the knickers the slightest hint of his ballsack comes into view between his legs.

In his panic, Thor reaches for the only available distraction.

Turning his back too, for Loki’s privacy rather than his own, he yanks his shirt over his head and, fumbling, gets to work in the fastenings of his corset. Or tries to. There are about thirty tiny hooks down the centre of the back, and Thor’s thick fingers refuse to cooperate.

“I, uh, I can't-” he says, trying to hold up the hanger with one hand and unfasten the hooks with two fingers of the other.

Loki’s snort from just behind him makes him jump. “Give it here.”

He shoulders Thor out of the way a little until their upper arms are pressed together, and lifts his fingers to the hooks, unfastening each one with practised ease. His shoulders are bared, his collarbones visible due to his slim build, and when Thor rocks forward a little on his toes he can see how the corset sits just beneath Loki’s nipples, brushing up against them as he shifts.

“There,” Loki murmurs, turning to Thor with the corset held open. He looks expectant, sure that Thor will do as directed, so Thor does.

He steps closer, right into Loki’s space, and lifts his arms out of the way - aware, again, of the sweaty journey over and how maybe it left him a little riper than he’d like, but Loki steps up close and, with the corset in-hand, wraps his arms around Thor’s waist.

They haven't been this close since the party, not even when Loki was measuring him, and Thor has to turn his face to stop himself from doing something stupid.

Moving around behind him, Loki fastens the rest of the hooks with ease, one after the next after the next, and when he’s done Thor flattens his hands over his stomach, sequins scratching his palms.

When Loki moves around to his front again, Thor opens his mouth to tell him that, okay, he guesses this isn’t too bad.

And then Loki reaches out to yank either end of the loose lace at Thor’s chest.

The thing tightens immediately, synching around him like a vice in woodshop, and Thor gasps.

“How's that? Tight?” Loki tilts his head, and Thor nods, feeling the pressure when he sucks in a deep breath, chest expanding.

“S’okay,” he shrugs, already wanting to take it off.

As if testing him, Loki winds his fingers into the laces a little further down and tugs on those too, until Thor feels like his waist is trying to mould to its shape.

He feels breathless and strange, like he's doing something he shouldn't. His fingers tremble with it.

“Turn,” Loki orders, all business, like he's not affected at all by their closeness or the fact that they're both wearing knock-off kink gear.

Doing as he's told, dutifully, Thor turns, grateful that the corset loosens once Loki’s finger slips out of the lace.

But then he catches sight of himself in the dressing table mirror. He looks...ridiculous. His broad shoulders look cartoonish, his hips exaggerated to the extreme by the artificial curve at his waist. Loki’s eyes over his shoulder are appraising, without even a hint of mockery in them.

“I'm sure it'll look even better without the jeans,” he nods, tilting his head this way and that as if trying to imagine the overall look. Thor takes it as just a passing comment until Loki waves a hand at him. “Don't be shy, Thor.”

And then Thor’s awkwardly trying to push his jeans down off his thighs, torso held ramrod straight by the corset, and Loki tuts loudly before crouching to help.

“Loki, I can do it,” Thor says in a rush, eyes catching on the bulge of Loki’s cock at the front of his knickers.

With a huff, Loki stands again. “Stop _fussing_ , Thor. Calm down, it's just a costume.”

He's got his hands on Thor’s biceps, a steadying hold, and dips his head until their eyes meet. 

With hot cheeks Thor tries to focus on what he’s saying, doing his best to suck in a few deep breaths. He feels stupid, though he knows that wasn't Loki’s intention.

“It's just a costume,” Loki says again with a shrug, gentle.

At Thor’s reluctant nod, Loki’s crouching again to tug off his jeans. One after the other his palms slide down Thor’s calves and hold there, pausing for Thor to lift his foot out of the material, and then he stands with the denim in-hand and drops it onto the bed alongside Thor’s discarded shirt.

Thor wishes he'd worn his better underwear.

“Okay?” Loki asks, already pulling Thor over to the mirror again.

Side-by-side they stand before it, both in their corsets. It's a nice touch, having Thor see them both together so he doesn't look out of place, but he still feels weird.

Loki looks much better in his outfit, more at home, more suited, with one hip cocked to the side. The stockings look great on him, on his soft, shapely legs. Thor blinks and looks back up at his own reflection.

“It'll get more comfortable.” Loki says it like it's a promise, so Thor nods. “Sit back down, just...wear it for a little while, see how you feel.”

Thor wants to laugh, but he still can‘t really catch his breath and, honestly, he’s worried it would come out a little manic.

Instead of the bed, Thor sits on the chair Loki was using for sewing. It's got wheels and he spins slowly, breathing steadily. He can hear Loki rummaging around in a drawer and when he turns back he's leaning close to the mirror, bent at the waist.

It gives Thor another chance to look at him; at the inviting curve of his arse, at the shiny black material of his knickers and how they cling just-so to his pale cheeks.

And then Loki turns his head slightly and Thor realises what he's doing. He watches, mesmerised, as a deep red stain sweeps along Loki’s bottom lip in the wake of a little black tube of lipstick.

He's precise about it, quick, and it's clear that he's done this before. He catches Thor’s eye in the mirror, shrugging with a smile.

He's much more beautiful than Frank-N-Furter in the movie, his neat eyebrows and sharp chin making him look far more delicate.

“Rocky wears some too, at the end,” Loki says, apparently unaware that Thor is too stuck on the sight of him to really listen.

He rifles through his draw again for another lipstick, uncapping and twisting up a bright pink tip. With a raised brow he walks over and knocks one of Thor’s knees out of the way, stepping into the space between.

Thor grips the chair to stop himself from taking Loki by the hips, heat beginning to pool at his groin just from having Loki so close.

Loki waves the lipstick a little in front of Thor’s face. “Can I?”

“What if somebody comes home?” Thor feels hot with humiliation at just the thought of somebody walking in and seeing him dressed this way, but there's a surprising undercurrent of arousal keeping him in his chair.

“Nobody’s coming home, and even if they did…” Loki reaches out to tug Thor’s hair loose from its tie. “You’ll look very pretty.”

He's sure that Loki’s teasing him, but there’s just enough sincerity to keep Thor from objecting.

Frozen still, he watches Loki shift against him, closer than before, and he can do nothing as Loki moves to straddle his lap. Thighs, pale and cool, press against his own as Loki lowers his weight.

Thor sucks in a breath.

His bodily response is immediate: he can feel himself getting hard.

“Loki-” he whispers, but then there are fingers beneath this chin tilting his face up and Loki is leaning close, like he might kiss him.

"I'll smudge it if you don't keep still,” he murmurs, focused, and Thor is startled by the waxy drag of lipstick across his bottom lip.

He breathes through his nose, shaky, and keeps as still as he can. He's never done anything like this in his life.

His top lip is next, though he does very little to help, blinking up at Loki helplessly as an artificially sweet scent invades his senses.

“Now do this,” Loki whispers, demonstrating how Thor should press and roll his lips together.

Then he leans back to look Thor over, eyes lingering on his mouth, and brushes his thumb along the skin just beneath, following the shape of his bottom lip.

Thor wishes that he'd shaved; he has no need to do it everyday, but he's never felt self-conscious about the patches of stubble before.

Loki doesn't seem to mind.

“Beautiful,” he says. Slow, gentle fingers slide through Thor’s hair, nails scratching lightly across his sensitive scalp and raising shivers down the back of his neck. “Unfair, really.”

Giving in to instinct, Thor lifts his hands to hold Loki’s slender hips, exaggerated by the corset. Feeling prized open, honest, he says, “You're beautiful too.”

It sounds corny coming of his mouth but he means it, and Loki’s eye roll is coupled with a soft smile. His hands frame Thor’s face, the tips of his fingers playing softly at the base of his neck and thumbs stroking just beneath his cheekbones. It's terrifyingly intimate.

“I want to kiss you,” Thor confesses. He's still not sure what it is about Loki, what it is that draws him in, but in this moment he has neither the inclination nor the energy to fight it.

The chair creaks as Loki leans in, weight shifting, and with his mouth just an inch from Thor’s he says, “Good of you to warn me this time.”

His breath is sweet, warm, and it's no effort at all to close the distance between them.

Loki’s fingers tighten around his face, his thighs squeezing too, and Thor’s cock throbs with it, breath rushing out of his nose.

“Fuck,” he gasps, pulling back, and he's barely had a chance to suck in a new breath before Loki’s mouth is back on his.

His lips are smooth and soft, the slightly-chemical taste of lipstick hitting Thor’s taste buds as he licks out, inviting himself inside.

Loki kisses like he's hungry, like he wants to take ownership of Thor’s mouth, and maybe the rest of him too. His hips shift forward until their groins meet, Loki’s thighs spread around Thor’s bulk, and when Thor's hands slip down to grasp his arse Loki groans into the kiss.

The material of the underwear is cool and smooth, with a lacy trim that catches on Thor’s calloused fingertips, and when he slips his fingers under the lace to the soft skin beneath, Loki pulls back on a gasp.

“Sorry,” Thor murmurs, face hot. He doesn’t remove his hands.

Loki rolls his hips, cock sliding against Thor’s. “Stop apologising,” he breathes. “You can do whatever you want to me.”

It's such an open invitation that Thor’s mind immediately goes to the extreme, imagining just how easy it would be to pick Loki up beneath the thighs and drop him down onto his single bed, to strip him naked and open him up for fucking.

A nip to his bottom lip pulls him from his thoughts.

“Can I see you?” Loki murmurs, kissing at the corner of Thor’s mouth. He’s already shifting back, hands slipping down the front of Thor’s corset, nails catching on the sequins.

When Thor opens his mouth to answer all that comes out is an embarrassingly desperate noise - though, he supposes that’s answer enough.

He wants Loki’s hands on him more than he’s able to comprehend, so in lieu of words he simply tilts his hips up towards Loki’s seeking touch.

Without another word Loki hooks all four fingers behind the elastic of Thor’s briefs and tugs, exposing the tip of Thor’s straining cock. He takes a long look, eyes bright, and it's a struggle for Thor not to give in to the urge to thrust up in a silent plea for closer attention.

Thankfully, Loki doesn’t have the patience to make him wait, running the pad of his thumb across the head of Thor’s cock, around the crown, before twisting his wrist and taking Thor’s cock fully in-hand.

“Loki…-” Thor groans, throat tight, but Loki swallows whatever was about to come tumbling out of his mouth, taking charge with his tongue and his teeth as he tightens his fist and begins to stroke Thor’s cock.

In response he groans again, choked off and desperate, but he can’t even find it in himself to care, not with Loki’s fist working him, unfurling the tight ball of arousal that’s been wound up inside him since they started playing with their costumes.

When Loki pulls back again, still stroking, Thor notes with an odd kind of disinterest that Loki’s mouth and chin are smudged with red and pink lipstick. It makes his coy smile look distinctly clown-like.

“Have you ever done this with anyone?” he says, casual in a way that Thor can tell is fake even through his daze.

Thor almost says yes out of habit; a lie he's used to telling. Heimdall and the guys on the team think he slept with a girl from Farmworth School’s netball team, The Valkyries, after an away game against their rugby boys. He let them think it because it suited him, helped keep his secret, but really they just went back to her house and hung out on the tyre swing in her yard, swigging awful whisky she’d pilfered from her dad’s cupboard and stargazing. She’d told him she was gay, smiling knowingly at him in the following silence.

_I’m telling the girls you went home with my V card_ , she’d said when they said goodbye.

He almost repeats the lie even after he catches himself, just for consistency's sake, but Loki’s got that look about him again, poorly masked vulnerability, and Thor tells the truth instead, shaking his head.

Loki kisses him again then, fist taking up its rhythm once more, and Thor just falls back into it, lips parting, rocking his hips up into the touch.

He has to wrap his arms around Loki, pull him in closer, for fear of jostling him right off his lap with the next thrust, and Loki moans into his mouth, works with the new angle without missing a beat.

It's not how Thor touches himself, not as rough as he likes, but it's far, far better; the unpredictability of it, the intimacy of their kisses, the feeling of being wanted. When he touches himself his cock is the focus of it, the pleasure shallow and centred only there. This is whole-body stuff - electricity buzzing through him everywhere Loki’s body touches his, and even places it doesn’t.

Thor’s arms tighten even more, sequins shifting against sequins, and Loki’s thighs tighten too, his mouth slipping away until he’s just breathing against Thor’s cheek, hips grinding forwards.

It’s only then that Thor realises maybe he should be touching Loki too, getting him off, if only he can recall how to command his body, now numb to everything except the rhythmic stroke and tug of Loki’s hand.

“Just…” he manages to bite out, shuddering as he hooks a thumb in the crook of Loki’s elbow to pull his arm free from between their bodies, mournful as Loki’s fingers slip from around him.

He’s able to think then, though, able to muster the control to grasp Loki by the hips and shove him back a little.

“What’s wrong?” Loki says in a rush, brows knit tight in the middle and concern heavy in his voice.

They both gasp at the first touch; Thor’s knuckles brushing gently up the underside of Loki’s hard cock through silky material, noting the length of him, the heat. He does it again, a little harder, heat spreading in his belly with the way Loki presses into it, the way his lips part on an exhale.

Turning his hand, he cups Loki through the material. He’s so warm there, and he rocks forward into Thor’s palm.

“Can I…?” Thor glances up to Loki’s face, finds his eyes intent on his own.

“Told you,” Loki shivers, rocking forward again. “You can do whatever you like.”

He means it, that much is clear, and it makes Thor’s cock twitch obviously enough that Loki lets out a throaty little laugh.

“Thrilled about that, aren’t you?” he says, looking pretty thrilled about the whole thing too.

“Shut up,” Thor huffs, palming Loki’s cock again, hooking a thumb in the lacy trim.

His heartbeat thrums loud and fast in his own ears, throat tight with nerves, but somehow it’s just easy to take Loki in-hand. Like touching himself, but better because of the way Loki’s whole body shudders, because the sound that escapes him almost short-circuits Thor’s brain - somehow kittenish and fiercely sexy all at once. Pure, unrestrained pleasure.

“You’re so hot,” Thor hears himself say, breathy and low.

Loki surges forward into a kiss, too rough and not particularly coordinated, but Thor opens up for it all the same, revelling in Loki’s low moan as he starts to stroke.

It helps a little that the gathered, silky underside of Loki’s underwear slides over Thor’s cock too as Loki rocks his hips, but before long he wants more, _needs_ more.

“Let’s…” he murmurs, sliding Loki backwards again only long enough to line them up.

Loki’s eyes widen, his bottom lip catching between his teeth, as Thor gets them both in-hand.

“ _Yesss_ ,” he hisses, thrusting into Thor’s fist, the underside of his cock sliding against Thor’s, sensitive glans nudging together. “I’ve always wondered how this would feel.”

And _good_ , is the answer. It’s clumsy, but it works.

They rock together, intermittently kissing and breathing at each other, both moaning and keening, breaths hitching.

Loki looks even more beautiful now; cheeks flushed, stained bottom lip slack and shiny with spit, eyes pinched tight as he rolls his hips to slide their cocks together in Thor’s fist.

“Loki,” Thor says, breathes, _prays_.

And when Loki opens his eyes, hooded and dazed but steadfast on Thor’s own, Thor feels another rush of warmth flood him.

“I’m gonna…” he says, voice unsteady.

Leaning in, Loki bites at his chin and jaw, laves and sucks at the soft skin of his throat, and Thor redoubles his efforts, working them both in his fist with a new kind of desperation.

He comes. Into his own hand, over the head of Loki’s cock. It’s overwhelmingly messy - the sight of it makes his cock twitch and spurt even more.

“Oh my god,” Loki says, voice thick with arousal, and the rolling of his hips intensifies despite Thor’s slackened hand.

He breathes Thor’s name, and Thor drags his eyes away from the sight of them, both slick and messy with his cum, to see the need in Loki’s eyes.

And he’s too sensitive now, hips twitching away of their own accord when Loki rocks into him, but he tightens his fist all the same, too caught up to stop, too caught on the way Loki’s looking down at them like it’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen.

“You close?”

At the too-fast nod of Loki’s head, the little whine that slips free, he pulls back as best he can, gets his own dick out of the way and takes Loki in his hand. They kiss, long and messy, Loki nipping and biting as much as anything else, huffing out low, desperate breaths into Thor’s mouth.

Thor’s own cum slicks the way, making for the filthiest noises he’s ever heard as he works his fist, quicker than before, meeting Loki’s every thrust.

It’s enough to make his arm begin to ache but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow, until he feels Loki tighten up like a coil.

When Loki comes his thighs tighten, mouth going slack against Thor’s as he rides it out, short, stuttering thrusts into Thor’s fist.

-

They make out for a while afterwards, slow and heated, hips still rolling together. Loki makes hurt little noises like he's over-sensitive but he doesn't loosen his hold, so Thor doesn't stop. He doesn't want to go just yet.

With Loki a warm and pliable weight in his lap, he's just thinking that it mightn’t be long before he’s ready to go again, when the slam of a car door outside startles them both out of their haze.

Thor stands so quick Loki nearly drops on his behind, catching himself on Thor’s biceps and shooting him a fiery look.

“Jesus, Thor-” he starts to say, but Thor yanks him upright and steadies him, cringing as he shoves his sticky-wet cock back into his underwear.

“Get this off me,” he says, turning and trying to shove the corset down his waist with shaking hands.

There's a distinct jingle of keys, and then the front door opens with a heavy creak.

“Loki, get this the fuck off me!” Thor hisses, post-orgasm chill entirely lost as panic claws its way up his throat.

Even as Loki rushes to pull the hooks free, Thor can tell he's laughing.

“It's only my dad,” he says. “He won't come up here anyway, stop panicking.”

Thor growls, and the minute the material loosens around his waist he shoves it off and into Loki’s waiting hands.

“He’s going to know,” he says, pulling his t-shirt on inside-out. “Fuck, I bet it smells like sex in here.”

His jeans are a struggle, catching on his big feet, but he gets them up and fastened eventually, noting that Loki’s not bothering to dress. He sighs when Thor turns for the bedroom door.

“Thanks for, uh, letting me watch the show,” Thor mumbles, back turned while he shoves his feet into his shoes.

He's reaching for the handle when Loki winds his way back into his personal space, insinuating himself between Thor and the door. Taking a moment’s pause, Thor looks down at him, coy green eyes meeting his through the vale of black lashes.

“What?” he whispers.

Loki only smiles and leans up to kiss him again. 

In spite of his panic, Thor lets himself be kissed, tension leaving his shoulders as Loki hums softly against his lips.

“See you Monday then,” he says when he pulls back, and then Thor’s out of the door and taking the stairs two at a time.

Just as he reaches the bottom step, with the front door only two or three strides away, he hears a noise behind him in the kitchen doorway. He freezes, sucking in a deep breath before turning.

It's immediately apparent that the man is Loki’s father, not just from the angular features and jet-black hair, but also from the familiar, sardonic twist in his expression when he lays his eyes upon Thor.

“...a guest of Loki’s, I assume?” he says with clear derision.

Thor nods, mumbles something that ends with the word ‘sir’ and then shuffles out with his head dipped low. He breathes a sigh of relief once the door is shut behind him.

He's a couple of feet from his bike when he hears the scrape of a window opening upstairs, and when he looks up Loki’s leaning out.

“He saw me,” Thor says, dizzy as he looks up.

Like a soldier begging for surrender Loki waves a little white tissue in one hand before tossing it out for Thor to catch.

It’s cold and wet in Thor’s palm and he must pull a face because Loki laughs, resting his chin on his hand and staring down fondly.

“It's a make-up wipe!” he calls. “You look like a sad drag queen.”

It's only then, with a sudden and devastating wave of embarrassment, that Thor remembers the lipstick smudged across his lips and chin.

-


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to [Tear](https://twitter.com/tear_n_tear) and the [Baby Bang Mods](https://twitter.com/thorkibigbang). <3

**Chapter Two  
** **Rehearsals: Week Four**

Volstagg reaches for the handle, and Thor’s body utilises the seconds before the door is yanked open to become suddenly overcome with nervous energy at the thought of seeing Loki again. They haven't spoken since Saturday, because every time Thor came up with an excuse to send a text it always seemed flimsy on re-reading.

They haven't even passed in the hallway today, and Thor has no idea how rehearsal is going to play out.

Alarmingly, his fear that Loki will acknowledge what they did in front of the whole group is outweighed by his fear that Loki isn't going to acknowledge it at all.

Everyone's already inside, sitting in the usual circle, and Loki is standing just behind his own chair addressing everyone, gesticulating wildly with the same long-fingered hands that were on Thor’s body less than forty-eight hours ago.

Volstagg takes one look at the bag full of sweets and bursts out into familiar, deep guffaws of laughter that cut Loki off mid-sentence.

“Did you really…?” he rests his hands over his stomach and rocks back like a cartoon character. “You really bought me snacks?”

Loki is thoroughly unamused, eyeing Volstagg with a piercing blankness, lips tight. He's almost mannequin-like in his stillness, betrayed only by the sharp rise and fall of his shoulders.

While Thor is undeniably put-out that Loki hasn't looked at him even once yet, he can't help but smile as he imagines just how hard Loki’s struggling against his instinct to snarl.

When eventually Volstagg’s laughter has calmed to low chuckles, Loki’s face shifts to accommodate an incredibly false smile. He looks like a maniac.

“Welcome,” he says, gesturing to the chairs. “Take a seat, help yourself to the food I purchased for you with my own money.”

Either unaware of or unconcerned by Loki’s sarcasm, Volstagg loudly pulls out a seat between Sif and Fandral, reaching immediately into the bag of snacks.

Finally, while everyone else is too busy giving Volstagg a more genuine welcome, Loki shifts his gaze to Thor.

It's hugely gratifying how swiftly his face softens.

“Hi,” he says, casual, mouth twitching with the threat of a smile. Nobody is paying them any attention.

Thor nods, fighting his own smile, and rounds the chairs to stand beside him. The group are now furiously digging through Volstagg’s bag of goodies, though he's making a valiant effort to stop them. “Good weekend?”

One of Loki’s shoulders lifts a fraction. “Fairly average.”

Thor is unable to fight off a grin.

-

As suspected, Volstagg fits right in.

He’s delighted to formally meet Leah, his Columbia, and takes great joy in lifting her up and flinging her around as Loki shoos them into a corner to start rehearsing their song.

“Stop squealing, Leah!” Loki keeps shouting over and over throughout the hour, but Thor’s certain he’s trying not to smile every time.

“Where were we?” he says, glancing down at his script again after another bark in his cousin’s direction.

“The kiss,” Amora says, pointedly.

Thor and Loki are standing in the middle of the circle of chairs, occupied by all but Leah and Volstagg, working out the ‘blocking’ for the song I Can Make You A Man.

Thor’s still not really sure what’s meant by the word _blocking_ but he’s happy enough to stand and move wherever Loki directs.

He’s just got done doing press-ups on command so his heart is already a little faster than normal, and at the mention of the kiss it shoots up a little higher.

Amora leans forward in her chair, mouth twisted in a grin. “Go on,” she quirks a brow. “Kiss.”

Loki glares at her. “There's really no need until opening night. I hope nobody in this room requires kissing practice, because that would actually be incredibly sad.”

Amora grumbles down at her script but nobody argues. 

Thor’s pretty sure Loki did it for his benefit, to save him the embarrassment of kissing a boy in front of people. He aims a grateful look over, but Loki isn’t looking.

After what they did at the weekend, Thor's ashamed of how relieved he is.

-

“Do you think you’ll get the song?” Loki asks Volstagg in the last few minutes of rehearsal, arms crossed over his chest.

It’s a fast-paced number, Thor remembers, and while rugby has taught him not to question Volstagg’s ability to move at speed, he’s not sure how quickly he can be expected to memorise the lyrics to this particular song.

Volstagg, grinning, makes finger guns in Loki’s direction and sings, “ _Tootie fruity, bless my soul, ba-da-ba-da-ba-da rock and roll._ ”

With a slow, perplexed stare, Loki sighs, “Well, points for effort I suppose.”

-

Wednesday

“So,” Loki says, tucking a knee under himself on the old sofa so he can face Thor properly.

They’re in their corner again, not quite as tucked away as Thor would like.

“So,” Thor smiles, reaching out to lay his palm on Loki’s bent knee, thumb rubbing over the jut of bone.

Loki lays a hand over his, sounding mildly apologetic when he says, “We should probably go over your song.”

Thor pulls his hand out from beneath Loki’s, dropping his head dramatically against the back of the sofa.

“No,” he whimpers, pathetic and not even sorry about it. “Can't somebody else sing it?”

“It’s the introduction to your character.”

Thor stares up at the ceiling. There’s a dark patch of damp in the corner above them. “Let’s cut it entirely. It’s the weakest song.”

Loki sighs. “Thor.”

Letting his head roll to the side, Thor meets his unimpressed gaze. “It’s not even on the CD.”

Loki’s eyes are bright, amused but determined. “Do you know the lyrics?”

It’s Thor who sighs then, defeated. “Yeah. Sort of.”

Patiently, Loki nods. “Do you want to try singing it for me?”

Thor’s skin feels uncomfortably prickly at just the thought. He snorts. “Fuck no, I can’t imagine anything worse.”

On the other side of the costume rack Thor hears Sif pass by, likely tailed by Fandral, muttering something unintelligible in Janet’s nasally American accent.

“Would you prefer to sing it in front of everyone?” Loki waves towards the racks in a vague gesture.

Thor suspects he’s fighting off a smug smile. Check and mate.

“...no,” he’s forced to concede. “You’re right, that is worse.”

At least, he thinks, if they’re alone he can try to distract Loki with his dick.

“Friday,” Loki says. “You’re doing it. Here, just to me.”

Thor pouts. “They’ll hear.”

“Thor, eventually you have to sing it on stage in front of an actual audience,” Loki says, exasperated. “Of real people. If you can’t sing it in front of me and this bunch of freaks, we really are in trouble.”

Thor pouts more, trying his best to look genuinely, pitifully sad.

He doesn’t expect it to actually work, but then Loki is rolling his eyes and saying, “Fine, Saturday then, my house.”

“Yes.”

Loki’s mouth twitches. “I do mean it though, you’ll have to sing it. I’m not just inviting you over for-”

Thor slides his hand back over to Loki’s knee and gets another eye roll in response.

“What're you doing later?” Thor says, squeezing a little.

Loki holds his gaze for a moment, and the intensity of it buzzes down Thor’s spine. He’s pretty sure he’d let Loki kiss him right here. He’s pretty sure he’d let Loki sink to his knees if he were so inclined…

He’s enjoying the mental picture, a little too much, when Loki says, “I have coursework to finish.”

Trying not to sound too deflated, Thor sinks further into the chair. “Oh. I thought maybe we could...run lines or something.”

It's a weak excuse, not least because outside of the song he’s refusing to sing he barely has any lines.

Loki’s smile says he knows exactly what Thor’s hoping for. “Well we can't go to my house, my father doesn't work evenings.”

The thought alone of bumping into Loki’s dad again is enough to make Thor inwardly cringe.

Loki’s looking back down at the page when he says, with a casual air, “We could go to the cafe near the library? They let me stay as long as I like, as long as I buy a coffee now and again. I could do my coursework and help you with lines.”

It doesn't sound like a likely place for a heated make-out session, and though Loki’s not even looking at him Thor feels as though it’s some kind of test.

Perhaps he wants to know that Thor is willing to hang out with him without the promise of an orgasm.

“I like coffee,” Thor says, pretending to turn his focus down to his script too.

He’s very aware of Loki’s brief, secretive smile.

-

The cafe is nice and the coffee is good, though it’s not cheap and the refills aren’t free so Thor drinks his in slow sips even once it’s cold.

If Loki notices he doesn’t say anything, but he does buy a lemon tart for himself and a chocolate muffin for Thor.

He does his coursework while Thor reads through the script, glancing up patiently whenever Thor has a question about a direction or dialogue. He switches from black coffee to milky tea as the evening draws in.

“Don’t want to be up all night?” Thor asks, gesturing to the steaming cup as it’s brought over.

Loki shrugs, spins the cup slowly between his fingers but doesn’t take a sip yet. “I don’t sleep very well anyway,” he says. “I’m actually glad to have all the sewing to occupy myself.”

Thor sleeps like a log, and says as much.

“Yes, you seem the type,” Loki says, and then taps his temple with the bottom of his pen, sly twist to his mouth, “Not a lot going on upstairs.”

“Fuck you,” Thor laughs, tossing a muffin crumb and celebrating with whispered cheers when it bounces off Loki’s nose.

It's only once it's completely dark outside and the staff start lighting candles that a thought occurs to Thor.

They’re kind of on a date.

-

They walk back after the cafe closes, the metronomic _tick tick tick_ of Thor’s bike gears filling the comfortable silence as he wheels it between them.

They should part ways after the high street if Thor’s going to make it home in time to avoid his mum worrying, but once they reach the intersection he only shrugs and carries on in the direction of Loki’s house.

Loki says nothing, but the small smile he’s trying to hide blooms warm in Thor’s belly.

He finds himself counting and keeping Loki’s smiles in his mind, collecting them like he does his rugby trophies. Each one a small but significant win.

“So, tonight was nice,” Loki says when they get to his street.

He stops beneath a streetlight. The yellow-orange light of it highlights the perfectly straight ridge of his nose.

“Yeah,” Thor says, propping his bike up against the street sign and stepping right into Loki’s space, then closer still.

“Oh,” Loki says, smiling again, tongue flashing out to lick at his bottom lip. “Hi.”

And Thor hums, leaning in, pleased when Loki meets him halfway.

He tastes like coffee and sweet pastry and he pushes his hands into the opening of Thor’s coat.

-

The following day Thor has rugby, but Friday after rehearsals they head off to the cafe again.

“What is that?” Loki asks, leaning forwards to look at Thor’s workbook.

Thor glances up. “It's a physics essay.”

He lets Loki slide it over to his own side of the table, taking great joy in the look of surprise that falls across his face as he takes in the title – _Effects of Weather Conditions on Electromagnetic Field Parameters._

“Did you actually think I was stupid?” he says lightly, unoffended. It's an impression lots of people seem to have of him.

Loki smiles though, sliding the paper back over. “No, I just thought _you_ thought you were stupid.”

-

S aturday 

Thor cycles to Loki’s house after breakfast, too-aware of the salty taste of bacon on his tongue and wishing he’d grabbed some gum on his way out.

All morning he’s been telling himself that his nerves are entirely caused by the idea of having to sing to Loki, and nothing at all to do with the thought of the things Loki might let him do afterwards.

It’s not a hot day, but he works himself up into a sweat, cycling too fast and thinking way too hard.

He pulls up just short of the path, though, his bike wheels screeching against the brakes, at the sight of the big black car in the driveway.

The one that sometimes picks Loki up from school.

Thor let’s his feet drop to the floor, hovers there for a minute, an ugly feeling churning in his belly.

He’s never thought to ask who it was that picked Loki up, never even really thought to wonder, but he wonders now. He knows it’s not his dad’s car.

Surely Loki doesn’t have another guy, an older guy, that he messes around with too?

Thor tugs his phone out of his pocket, opens his text chat with Loki, but instead of typing anything he just frowns down at it.

He doesn’t see the front door open until there’s a bigger, older version of Loki standing right in front of him looking equally as confused as he feels.

“Can I help you, buddy?” he’s got one hand on the lever to open the car boot.

“Uh...Loki,” Thor says dumbly, because his brain is too busy flooding his body with relief to form a proper sentence.

It’s his brother.

“Not quite Loki,” the guy says, tugging the boot open. He grabs a heavy box, groaning as he stands, and tilts his head towards the other beside it. “You mind?”

Feeling off-kilter, Thor drops his bike to the ground without ceremony, grabbing the box and following him in. They place them down just inside the doorway.

Loki, skipping lightly down the stairs, kind of jumps when he sees him.

“Thor!” he says, like the visit is unexpected. “This is Byleister, my more tolerable brother.”

Byleister laughs, short and sharp. “Give Blindi a break.”

Loki ignores him, turning entirely to Thor. “Drink?”

He heads into the kitchen without awaiting an answer, leaving Thor standing beside the allegedly nicer brother who, he’s starkly aware, is eyeing him with keen interest.

“I’m gonna…” Thor gestures over his shoulder. “Need to get my bike.”

He stumbles out of the door and back to the pavement, shoulders lifting to his ears when he hears Byleister’s footsteps following.

“Thor Ohlson, right?” he says.

“Uh, Odinson,” Thor nods, straightening his bike and clinging, white-knuckled, to the handlebars. He’s embarrassingly pleased to know that Loki has mentioned him, but his gut churns as he wonders what exactly Loki has said.

“He’s been singing your praises,” Byleister answers, like he can read minds. “Which is saying a lot, considering he usually finds everybody on earth entirely unremarkable.”

Thor nods, hears the rubber of his handlebars squeak beneath his tight fists.

Byleister is neither broad-shouldered like Thor nor slender like Loki, but rather somewhere in between. He’s got a strong jaw and a slightly gravelly voice that sounds a little like his father’s.

He’s...masculine, and Thor realises, with no small amount of shame, that he doesn’t _want_ him to know that he’s gay.

At his silence, Byleister raises a brow.

“I find him pretty remarkable, too,” Thor stumbles to say.

It’s the truth - it’s the entirely un-incriminating truth, and yet Thor feels like he just confessed his undying love. He can feel himself blushing.

Byleister’s got his hands on his hips, the look on his face not entirely unlike the one Loki wears when he’s trying not to smile.

“Hate to be terribly cliche,” he says, looking genuinely like he does hate it, “But just so we’re clear, you know I’ll run you over with my car if you hurt him, don’t you?”

Thor’s gaze shifts across to the black Land Rover shining in the sun. “It’s a big car,” he says.

Byleistr nods gravely. “You’re a big guy.”

“Everything okay?” Loki asks, standing in the doorway with two drinks in-hand.

Byleistr slaps a hand on Thor’s shoulder. “We were just discussing the Rover.”

Loki, who apparently hasn’t picked up on the tension and clearly couldn’t be less interested in the vehicle, rolls his eyes. “Thrilling.”

-

The living room curtains somehow manage to be both ugly and plain at the same time, and Thor focuses his gaze entirely on them.

If he meets either of the pairs of eyes on him, he’s sure he’ll die of embarrassment.

He finishes the final _no-no-no_ , weak and unenthusiastic, and immediately lets his eyes drop to the lyric page of his script as if studying it intensely.

There’s a damp, grey smudge where he’s had his thumb.

“Is he really in it?” Byleister says, and Thor hears Loki whack him with his script.

“It was fine, Thor,” he says, whacking again for good measure. “I’m sure it’ll be much better once you’re used to the idea of an audience.”

Byleister snorts. The bastard.

“Sorry about him,” Loki says, sighing. “About his entire existence, really.”

“It’s...fine,” Thor says.

But it’s not long before he’s sorry for Byleister’s entire existence too, because he _doesn’t leave_ , not even when Loki insists they really must get on, or when he threatens to make Thor sing again, and before long their father is due home and Thor is forced to head home without even so much as a quick kiss.

Sorry about today - Loki texts him later on.

Thor texts him the emoji with the small, sincere-looking smile. - It’s okay, we got to hang.

And then he shoves a pillow over his face and lets out a long, disappointed groan.

-

**Rehearsals: Week Five**

By Wednesday Thor is mumbling his lyrics vaguely in tune while the others dance around him, harmonising and joining in at the appropriate points.

He’s pleasantly surprised by how supportive they all are.

His character spends most of the scene running away from Loki’s, which feels desperately ironic considering how much he’d wanted to get Loki alone at the weekend.

“I’m still very sorry about him,” Loki says again as they’re leaving. “I had no idea he’d be there.”

Amora, waiting for them by the door, sighs dreamily. “I’d have been there if I’d have known.”

Loki side-eyes her sharply. “Are there any men at all you’re not gagging to climb on top of?”

“Only you,” She blows him a kiss.

They all walk together to the gates, Thor and Loki close enough that their knuckles brush with every step.

It feels as though it’s hardwired to Thor’s cock.

He’s beyond desperate to get Loki alone.

But when they reach the gates Amora rushes to the road, climbing into Loki’s father’s car where it waits to take them home, and Thor has to settle for an apologetic look and the soft tilt of Loki’s head.

“You did well today,” he says, sounding like he means it. “And, ah. Sorry again.”

Thor’s not sure this time whether he’s still apologising for his brother, or whether he’s sorry too that they can’t seem to get a moment to themselves.

-

I don’t only want to hang out when we can kiss and stuff - Thor types out later on, lying on his bed post-shower having jerked himself to near-violent orgasm at the thought of Loki in his lap - but I really feel like if we don’t get to do it again soon I might lose my mind.

It feels horribly revealing.

He sends it anyway.

Goodnight, Thor. Loki texts back. Followed shortly by, Me too.

-

There's an away game on the Friday so Thor can't make that rehearsal either, but he tells Loki with enough advance notice that he doesn't grumble too hard about it.

The first 40 minutes suck, nobody is completing their passes and the other team are playing like a machine. Thor is getting increasingly sweaty and frustrated, not to mention _cold_ each time they have to stop and scrum, and halfway through the last play of the first half he decides he'd rather be anywhere else.

But then he glances up into the Away Team seating section and catches sight of the entire Rocky Horror cast, all huddled together for warmth beneath the bright flood light, and he's so surprised that he stops dumbly for at least ten seconds.

Loki's head is tilted to hear whatever Amora is saying to him but his eyes are trained intently on Thor, and even from metres away Thor sees his lips turn up into a smirk when he notices Thor watching.

But, just over Loki's head Sif is frantically waving her arms, gesturing wildly for Thor to look downfield, and he shakes himself out of his daze just in time to catch the ball that Hogun has flung backwards at him.

-

There's some general confusion within the team as to why the drama kids have travelled to a game twenty minutes out of town when nobody else has bothered, but their spirits seem to be buoyed by the over-the-top cries of support they receive whenever one of them runs past the cast.

At one point Thor hears Leah call "Go that guy!" to one of the players whose name she clearly doesn't know.

They don't win, but it ends up being closer than Thor expects after the team pick up in the second half.

He gets his shower quickly, rinsing off sweat and a layer or two of Hartford School District's finest mud.

"So it's true, then?" Eric says, towel over his head while he haphazardly rubs his hair dry.

They're teammates but not friends, mostly because Eric loves to challenge Thor. Since regular aggression wouldn't go down well with the team, he always opts for the passive variety.

Thor often daydreams about punching him in the throat.

Only halfway into his clothes, Thor struggles on, at least covering himself before turning to engage. Over half the team have paused their dressing to observe, but Thor only addresses Eric. "What's true, Masterson?"

Eric shrugs. "The musical theatre thing. I didn't really believe it, but then I saw them all in the crowd."

"Yeah," Thor says, woefully unable to calculate a proper response under the scrutiny of almost the whole team. He wants to point out how loudly they were supported, how much they perked up under the cast's attention, but he can't quite bring himself to justify the comment with a defence.

Thankfully, Volstagg chooses that moment to exit the showers; huge and naked and pink skinned from over-scrubbing.

"Something wrong with musical theatre?" he asks, deceptively jovial.

There’s a polite threat hanging in the air, and everybody knows it. It sends them scrambling to avert their eyes - and their attention in general - to anything else, and Thor shoulders his bag gratefully and heads outside.

Out in the car park where the team bus is waiting he finds the cast hanging around Sif's car and another more beat-up vehicle that, since he's sitting on it with a lit cigarette dangling between his lips, Thor deduces must belong to Skurge.

Leah waves imaginary pom-poms as he approaches, improvising, "Thor Thor you’re our king, throw and catch the egg-shaped thing!"

Behind her Amora screws up her face, but Loki is wearing a ridiculous smile as he says, not unkindly, "It's still called a ball, Leah."

The tip of his nose is pink, his fingertips too where they poke out from black fingerless gloves, but he looks in his element and, dipping his head, aims his smile at Thor from beneath his lashes.

"You did well out there, Wonderboy," he says, lifting a shoulder. "I assume. I only pretend to know the rules, but I did see you throw a few people to the ground."

"Very impressive," Sif chimes in.

"Kind of erotic really," Amora adds, and this time she's clearly making fun rather than flirting for real.

Thor waves them all off, glancing over their cars to the waiting bus. Several other members of the team are heading that way already, shoving their sports bags in the holding area at the back.

"Ah, I have to..." he gestures over, unsure whether or not he's glad that he won't get to cram himself into one of the cars with them. "Thanks for coming though. We need all the support we can get."

Loki's eyebrows pull together, but before he's forced to ask the obvious question, Skurge says, "You can't come with us?"

Coach appears from the bus then, clipboard in hand, and locates Thor with his beady eyes.

"No, Coach says he's obligated to drive us to and from away games. I made a run for it once and I’ve never heard the end of it since. I wouldn't even get to drive home with my parents if they were here."

Amora pouts. “But I have an empty house. We were going to have a party to celebrate your team coming in second place.”

Thor smiles. “You know that getting second place in a two-team game is just a loss, right?”

Skurge tosses his cigarette and grinds it out with a heavy boot. “So a commiseration party then. I’ll pick you up from the school, yeah? Tell Fancy Pants and the big guy too.”

“We’ll see you soon," Loki says, no room for argument, dipping to pick up Skurge's cigarette and pointedly putting it back into his hand.

Skurge sighs heavily but doesn’t drop it again. "Alright. Everybody in."

Leah's in with Sif, in the front, and she hangs out of the window blowing kisses, singing, "Thor Thor you're so tall, throw and catch the rugby ball!" as the two cars pull out of the car park.

Thor watches them go with a smile before dragging his feet over to the bus, hoping the line of questioning from in the changing room won't come up again.

-

The group are there, as promised, waiting by the school, and Thor ends up in the front of Sif’s car with Leah in his lap.

At Amora’s house Loki scrambles inelegantly out of the back of Skurge’s car, followed by Fandral and Volstagg, and makes a bee-line for the kitchen.

He’s lining up bottles of spirits on the counter when Thor follows him in.

“What’s your poison?” he says.

Thor didn’t know people said that in real life.

“Beer?” he says.

Skurge shoulders past him. “‘mora’s mum doesn’t drink beer,” he says, sneering down at a bottle of cheap rum and then swiping it.

Loki shrugs, holding up a big clear bottle of vodka. “Close enough, right?”

-

They scatter themselves around the living room, classic pop songs playing on a music channel on the wall-mounted TV and bottles being passed around without mixers.

Sif, still intending to drive home, settles in with a warm can of Coke from the cupboard, but Skurge is already a third of the way into the bottle of rum and everyone else seems to be following suit.

Thor and Loki have taken up a spot by the door, shoulder to shoulder. They won’t touch here, not in front of everyone, but that does nothing to lessen the charge between them.

Thor swears he could feel it with his fingers if he reached out.

“Won’t Amora’s mum notice?” he asks, watching a bottle make another trip around the room.

Loki holds out the bottle of vodka he’s been hoarding just for himself, raising a brow. Thor eyes it for a moment before taking it and having a swig.

It burns his throat and makes his eyes water a little, and he pretends not to notice Loki’s amusement as he shakes it off, sucking the taste from his teeth with a wrinkled nose.

“God,” he says, clearing his throat. “Haven’t you people ever heard of mixers?”

Taking another swig, Loki shrugs. “I’m sure Sif would be happy to share her Diet Coke.”

She’s sitting between Fandral and Skurge on the sofa, all three of them watching Leah teaching Volstagg the Time Warp in the middle of the room even though there’s some Madonna song on the television.

“I think Amora would be thrilled,” Loki answers the previous question. “She doesn’t have the most attentive parents.”

And Thor nods, even though he doesn’t have the slightest idea how that feels.

He thinks maybe Loki does.

“Thank you again, for coming to the game,” he says, jostling Loki with his shoulder.

He wishes he could properly express how much it means that they all showed up despite not only the cold but their clear disinterest in the sport or the team at large.

Loki smiles, shrugs.

“It was Leah’s idea. She’s become quite fond of you all.” Then, after a moment, “As have I.”

Thor’s stomach flips pleasantly and he reaches out for the bottle again.

“Even Volstagg?” He swigs, still hating the taste. “Even _Fandral_?”

Fandral’s on his feet now, assisting in the Time Warp lesson, grinning brightly at Leah around the imposing sight of Volstagg, hands on hips, rocking his pelvis to and fro.

As they watch him, the corner of Loki’s mouth ticks up into a small smile. “Yes, but like the fondness one might have for a sweet but spectacularly stupid dog.”

Nobody is watching them, all too caught up in the shenanigans in the middle of the room, and so when Loki tilts his head towards the door with a raised brow, Thor gives a short nod in response.

The kitchen lights are off now, throwing the room into full darkness, and Thor has to reach for Loki’s wrist in order to be guided through the unfamiliar space without knocking into anything.

The backdoor unlocks with ease, a quick and quiet ‘ _snick_ ’, and then they’re outside in the cold, Loki backing himself up against the brick and pulling Thor to him.

“I think we probably have at least ten minutes before anyone even notices we’re gone,” he says, arms winding around Thor’s waist, warm breath beneath his jaw.

With frankly embarrassing quickness, Thor feels blood rushing to his groin, and groans low into the crisp evening air as their bodies come together, flush.

His heart thunders wildly at the thought of being caught out here, but he doesn’t fight at all as Loki uses hands in his hair to tilt his head, to press their mouths together.

He presses right into Loki’s body, angles their bodies until he finds friction, allowing - no, _encouraging_ \- Loki’s knee up around his hip, and grinding against him.

Loki tears away to suck in a breath, laughing a little, and Thor only presses in closer, scrapes his teeth along Loki’s sharp jaw.

Loki shivers with it, laughs again.

“I really like watching you play rugby,” he breathes.

Thor’s not sure what he’s getting at, why it’s relevant, but he feels nice about it all the same - the thought that Loki likes to watch him do something physical, the same way he finds himself enjoying more and more watching Loki boss the group around to get what he wants from them.

“I like it when you bash into people. I like the way your thighs look when you run. I spent the full game aroused.”

Thor nods, feels his stomach flip. He thinks maybe now would be the time to say nice things about Loki too, about his commanding presence or how beautiful he is, but instead he just presses in again to steal his mouth.

Loki allows it, like it hadn’t even occurred to him to expect compliments in reply.

They stay out there for long minutes, lost in each other, each kiss tinged with a desperation they both know won’t be sated tonight. It’s all the sweeter for it, all the more arousing. Thor’s got a wide-fingered grip on Loki’s arse, possessive, holding him close, and Loki’s fists are tight in Thor’s now-wild hair.

"Shall I suck your dick?" he suddenly says, breathy and quick.  
  
Thor lets out a sharp, surprised laugh. "What?" he says, laughing again. "Here?"  
  
Loki nods, licks out at his bottom lip. It doesn't help Thor's resolve at all.

"Loki-" he breathes, at war with himself, unsure whether he's going to say ' _We can't do that here_ ' or ' _Yes. Yes please_ '.

But then the low, thrumming sound of a car engine filters into the haze, and then there’s the creak of brakes as it pulls to a stop, followed by a sudden, stark silence.

Thor pulls back further, tilts his head in question.

“Are we expecting anyone?”

Loki shrugs, face pinched as he, too, listens to the distinct sound of two car doors slamming closed.

They straighten up - Loki running his fingers through Thor’s hair, gently now, to tame it - and slip back inside, both stopping in the kitchen doorway at the sight of at least one tall silhouette blocking most of the light through the ugly, frosted glass of Amora’s front door.

“Who is it?” Thor murmurs.

Loki throws him a sardonic side-long glance. “Who am I, Clark Kent? I can’t see through doors.”

Amora appears from the living room on already-unsteady feet. She’s heading to answer it, but a quick glance back towards the kitchen stops her in her tracks. Her brows pull together in a frown as she takes them in.

“The door?” Loki says, gesturing. It’s an effective enough distraction, for now.

She pulls the door open carefully, just enough to look out.

“Oh, it’s you,” Thor hears her say.

And then, unexpectedly, a voice he knows better than anyone else’s. “Evening, Barbie. Mind if we join you?”

-

The mood is unquestionably different now. Skurge seems on-edge in a way that even his rum can’t loosen, Leah has grown uncharacteristically shy, and Amora is wearing an unmistakable frown.

Volstagg has abandoned his attempt to learn the Time Warp in favour of huddling in the corner with the new arrivals.

For their part, Heimdall and Hogun look as though they’re silently asking themselves why they came.

Thor is with them too, wondering the same thing.

At least they brought beer.

“You made it sound like we were welcome,” Heimdall says, scowling a little at Volstagg.

“You’re definitely welcome,” Volstagg says, shrugging. “Everyone is very welcoming.”

Thor let’s his eyes pass across Skurge’s scowl, Amora’s frown, Sif’s awkwardly high shoulders.

“Yeah,” Heimdall says.

“Well, you’re here now,” Volstagg says, then turns to the room at large. “Leah, come and let me introduce you properly.”

She does, tucking herself under Volstagg’s arm like a little baby bird beneath a wing, offering a small but sincere smile, and a tight little wave. “Hi.”

“Hogun, Heimdall,” Volstagg says, pointing to each of them in turn. “Guys this is Leah, my Columbia.”

“I don’t know what that means,” Heimdall offers out a hand for her to shake, “but it’s nice to meet you.”

Instead of taking it, she does a little curtsy.

Heimdall’s eyes slide to Thor’s, then back. “Okay,” he says, not unkindly.

“Leah was just teaching me the Time Warp,” Volstagg says. “Do you guys want to learn?”

“Ooh,” Leah bounces on the balls of her feet. “Yes! Please.”

And, to Thor’s surprise, Heimdall gives a loose shrug. “I do actually know the Time Warp,” he says, handing his drink off to Hogun to Thor’s surprise. “I have been to a school disco.”

Leah looks to Hogun too, expectant.

His mouth remains a flat line, despite the friendly brightness of his eyes. “I’m okay,” he says, nodding. “I’ll watch.”

“Well, you don’t get to sit this one out, Thor,” Leah says, grabbing him by the hand and dragging him, too, into the centre of the room.

Loki and Sif, sitting side by side on the sofa now, both look far, far too amused for Thor’s liking.

“Aren’t you going to help me?” he says in their general direction, hopeful that at least one of them will take pity on him.

Loki grins. “Have fun, darling.”

-

Thor and Heimdall spend most of the next ten minutes somewhere between hysterical and frustrated, stepping the wrong way or forgetting the particular order of the moves, giving up before being dragged back by Leah.

Volstagg, though, seems to pick it up with ease, singing the chorus with loud, booming enthusiasm even though they’re still actually listening to classic pop songs on the television.

Eventually Heimdall is able to dodge Leah’s grasp and goes off to reclaim his now-warm beer from Hogun, leaving Thor to helplessly stumble his way through another verse. When he, too, gives up and throws himself down on the sofa, Sif offers only an amused grin and a gentle pat on the head.

“Thanks for nothing,” he tells her, doing his best to pretend that he’s annoyed.

It takes him a moment to realise that Skurge is over with the guys now, gesticulating pretty wildly, and both of them seem genuinely interested in whatever he’s saying.

When Leah breaks away from Volstagg she walks around the back of the sofa to drape herself over Loki’s shoulders, entirely kitten-like.

Volstagg’s still proudly Time Warping in the middle of the room.

“He could be in this number,” Leah wheedles, watching him. “We don’t have a big enough chorus, he’d bulk us out. He could be at the back.”

Still cradling his vodka to his chest, and a little more tipsy now than Thor’s ever seen him, Loki laughs. “He’d hardly go unnoticed.”

Leah pouts. “We could put him in a wig.”

Loki’s eyes shift from her to Volstagg and back again, and Volstagg - clearly having noticed - amps up his enthusiasm until eventually Loki sighs and throws up his arms.

“Oh, _fucking fine_ ,” he says, exasperated. “Let’s be honest, I’ve lost all control of this play anyway. Half of the fucking rugby team are in it.”

“Which,” Amora says, pointedly, “might I remind you is entirely your own fault.”

“Hey, maybe Heimdall will join the chorus,” Leah beams.

Heimdall, catching mention of his name, breaks away from his own conversation to offer her a patient smile. “You’re cute, but no.”

Leah sighs, voice muffled against Loki’s shoulder when she says, “At least people might actually come to watch it this year.”

Without even looking back at her, Loki flicks her right on the nose.

-

They get far too many people in Sif’s car, enduring her sensible complaints about it until she’s able to drop Leah and Volstagg off at their respective homes, leaving Fandral in the passenger seat and Thor and Loki in the back.

They ride in relative quiet, the silence only broken by the soothing voice of the late-night radio DJ and the whirring of the wind through the slightly lowered windows.

“Then after these lights you need to take a right,” Fandral directs, pointing.

“Come over tomorrow,” Loki whispers low, secretive, head lolling on Thor’s shoulder.

Thor glances down at him, then ahead at the others. Neither are paying them any mind. “Your brother going to be there?” he murmurs, fully prepared to give a hard no if it means having to face Byleister again.

Loki brushes soft fingertips over his knuckles.

“Nope,” he answers, popping the p. “No dad either.”

Thor hums, trying his best not to smile. “Okay.”

-

He’s having an uncharacteristic lie-in when the series of texts come in, rattling his phone across the bedside table.

[ ](https://freeimage.host/)

Once he’s blinked the haze of sleep away enough to process the words, he flies out of his bed like it's on fire.

He showers in record time, spends more time picking out his boxer briefs than the rest of his outfit, and then jitters impatiently from foot to foot in the kitchen waiting for the toaster.

The front door slams, Odin and Balder home from junior football, and Balder skids to a stop in the kitchen doorway. He's all sweaty and muddy, with green streaks of grass staining his shins, and Thor immediately holds a hand out to ward him off.

"I scored twice!" He bellows, like he's sustained a head injury and can no longer control his volume.

"Balder, shower." Odin says, coming up behind and turning his youngest bodily by the shoulders. Then, once Balder has clomped heavily up the stairs, he leans on the frame and watches Thor with an odd look on his face.

Thor nods at him. Odin has always had a certain gravitas about him, and a careful way of observing like maybe he can read minds. Balder still thinks he can, mostly owing to the fact that all of the boy's thoughts show on his face, but Thor has long stopped believing it.

Today though, the thing on his mind makes him weirdly nervous beneath that gaze.

"Morning," he says.

Odin glances at his watch and says "Barely."

It's nearly eleven, Thor notes. He wonders how long Loki waited for him to not arrive before he sent the text.

“You got home late,” Odin says, a raised brow.

Thor nods, barely glancing up from the toast he’s over-buttering. “Rugby celebrations got a little out of hand.”

It’s not really a lie.

Odin’s brow is still unmoved, lifted in passive-suspicion. He shrugs. “School website says you lost.”

Saying nothing else, and not allowing time for Thor to either, Odin steals a piece of toast from the plate and leaves the kitchen.

Thor doesn't have the patience to make another.

He's on his way to Loki's within forty five minutes of receiving the first text, biking so fast that he has to stop and take off his jacket for fear of passing out.

He arrives, breathless and relieved to find that there really are no black cars in the driveway, and the door opens to him immediately.

Loki looks tired and a little pitiful, but pulls him into a kiss so sudden and vigorous that it seems a wonder he didn't answer the door fully naked.

Nerves and excitement buzz in Thor's belly, blood flowing in a very specific direction as Loki's tongue slides along his bottom lip, teasing, asking for access.

Just as Thor's opening up to the kiss though, Loki steps back and turns to head into the kitchen.

Dutifully, Thor closes the door behind himself and follows.

It smells like coffee, a still-steaming mug sitting at the edge of the counter, and yet Loki is digging around in the fridge.

“You hungry?” Thor says, wishing he’d been able to have more than one slice of toast and wondering if he can get in on whatever Loki is about to make.

Loki, though, clearly has other plans, emerging only with a tall can of Red Bull.

“Couldn’t stomach food,” he says, looking a little queasy at just the thought.

And though he’s admittedly a little disappointed, Thor says, “Well, you know, if you don’t feel good we don’t have to-”

Loki waves a hand.

“I have it covered,” he says, opening the can with a hiss and pouring it directly into his half-empty coffee cup with a _glug glug glug._

Thor watches, appalled.

Loki takes a long swig, pulls a face and then takes another.

“That’s disgusting,” Thor says, making his feelings even more clear with a slow shake of his head. “You’re so weird.”

“Yeah,” Loki says, taking another long gulp. “But you like me anyway.”

And, at that, Thor feels himself unwind, soften almost completely. “Yeah,” he says. “I do.”

So much it’s scary, in fact.

Loki reaches out to brush a strand of hair away from Thor's face, fingernail tickling as it travels along the sensitive skin behind his ear and down the side of his neck.

"Well, we have the whole afternoon," he says in a secretive voice. "We could get up to all sorts. We’re both going to need our strength."

Visuals hit Thor in a rush; of Loki on his knees, of him spreading himself open like they do in pornos, of him kneeling on his bed with his back arched and Thor...Thor's hands on his waist and his cock sliding inside-

"In that case," Thor manages to say, sliding over an empty cup. “You better pour me some of that sludge too."

-

The taste of it, metallic and earthy, lingers in Thor’s throat long after he’s swallowed down the last of it, and he’s grateful when Loki goes back into the fridge for bottles of water before leading the way upstairs.

Thor has four condoms in his wallet, multicoloured foil packages boasting to be flavoured, ribbed, pre-lubed. He’d picked them out of a bowl in the doorway of a Sexual Health Clinic after one of the guys on the team had mistaken a pimple for a genital wart. Heimdall had rounded up all alleged non-virgins on the team and made them get check-ups.

Thor had lied on the forms and gotten the tests, knowing all would come back clear.

“Those are looking great,” he says as they step into Loki’s room, pointing over in the vague direction of the corsets hanging on the wardrobe door.

Loki hums, doesn’t even look at them, as he steps into Thor’s space and backs him further into the room.

“We can put them on again if you like,” he teases, pushing Thor down into the chair and climbing into his lap.

It’s familiar, just like the last time all over again, and Thor takes a kind of comfort in it. It feels good, nice, to wrap Loki up in his arms and tug him close, find his mouth.

It’s not long before Loki begins to roll his hips, and when he pulls away with a knowing smile Thor can’t help but blush.

He’s already hard.

"I have lube," Loki says as he leans in for another kiss, fingers snaking beneath the hem of Thor's t-shirt. "Do you want...?"

It’s too fast, all of it, to go from disliking each other to making out to mutual hand-jobs and now this, all within the space of a few weeks, but Thor _does_ _want_ , hasn’t stopped wanting this since the first time they kissed, and so when he says "yes" it's like a gasp for breath, all of his desires thrown out in one syllable.

His t-shirt catches on his nose as Loki tugs it up and off, both of them laughing, already breathless. Indiscriminately Loki tosses it aside, gaze focused immediately on Thor’s bare chest.

He’s not _huge,_ he doesn’t work out the way Heimdall does, but he’s got broad shoulders and a body that has been shaped by years of rugby drills and the competitive nature of the team. He almost preens when Loki’s hands slip down from his shoulders to rest on his pecs, thumbs catching purposefully over flat nipples.

When their eyes meet, Loki smiles, almost shy in the moment. “We’re really doing this?”

Thor rubs his thumbs over soft, smooth skin, along the dip of Loki’s hips, swallows hard. “If it’s what you want.”

He hears his voice catch.

“It is,” Loki nods, and then kisses Thor so soundly he has no choice but to believe him absolutely.

It’s easy to get Loki’s shirt up and off, to pull him in close until they’re chest to chest, wrapped up in each other, rocking together, mouths desperate on each other’s.

It’s all-consuming, even this, Loki so close and so warm, hands in his hair and on his shoulders and sliding down between their bodies.

It occurs to Thor that, if he’s not careful, he could come from just this.

Loki pulls back, whines, like he’s thinking it too.

“I’m going to…” he hesitates, only for a moment, before a determined look settles in his face. “I’m taking my clothes off.”

And then he shifts off Thor’s lap and starts to unfasten his jeans, not rushing but not exactly slow about it either.

Thor’s blood runs lava-hot, his breath coming out in a wobbly stutter as Loki’s body is revealed to him once again.

“Come on,” Loki tells him, waving a hand. “You too.”

Overwhelmed with nervous excitement, Thor struggles to get his fingers to work on the button and zipper of his own jeans, fumbling several times before pausing to suck in a breath.

When he opens his eyes Loki is there, naked and on his knees.

“Stop,” Thor huffs, shaking his head. “You really can’t because I-”

Loki’s hands slip up his thighs, the low burr of fingernails on denim.

“I don’t want to come like that,” Thor shudders, already imagining it; Loki’s clever mouth on him, how he’d look up at him, how he’d make a show of it. ”And I will, if you...”

Maintaining eye contact, Loki licks his lower lip. “If I suck your cock?”

Through gritted teeth, Thor laughs. “Have mercy.”

It’s only as Loki is pulling back, hands slipping away as he sits back on his heels, that Thor wonders if he should’ve let it happen. Got the first one out of the way so he doesn’t accidentally fire off while trying to get a condom on.

But it’s too late by then; Loki’s just watching with expectant eyes, doing as he’s told for once.

This time, Thor manages to get the button undone, feels the vibration against his hard cock as he tugs the zipper down.

He lifts his hips, shoves his jeans and boxers down to mid-thigh, and before he can kick them off the rest of the way Loki’s back in his lap, bare thigh against bare thigh, mouth against mouth.

And then - “Damn it.” - he’s gone again, darting naked across the room to whip open the drawer beside his bed and pull out a bottle of lube.

An entire bottle. Beside his bed.

Thor’s mind goes places.

“That was your cue to say _Janet_ ,” Loki tells him, slipping back into his lap.

Thor blinks, hands slipping back around Loki’s waist, still too dazed from thoughts of Loki knuckle-deep in himself to comprehend the joke. “What?”

Loki’s laugh is light and airy, like a bell. Like he’s really happy.

“Never mind,” he says, and this time when he kisses Thor it’s slow, with both hands cradling his cheeks. The kind of kiss Thor’s only ever seen in romantic movies.

His belly flips.

“Loki,” he murmurs, warm and shuddering with overwhelming affection.

But Loki shifts back slightly again, grabs the bottle of lube from where he’d rested it between their bodies.

“I know,” he says. Like he thinks Thor was about to hurry him along. Then he pumps twice on the bottle top, releasing a pool of thick, clear liquid into his cupped fingers, and meets Thor’s gaze. “Do you want to do it, or should I?”

And, _god_ , Thor wants to, he really does, but he’s never done it, not even to himself, and...well, porn rarely ever covers this part of the process.

“I…” he says, eyes flickering between the glob of lube getting warm in Loki’s hand and Loki’s eyes - which, somehow, seem patient and yet expectant all at once. “Will you show me how?”

Loki makes a small, soft noise. “Okay. Give me your hand.”

Loki uses his free hand to slide two of Thor’s fingers into the cool, silky lube, wrapping his cupped fingers around them, both of them laughing awkwardly, breathlessly, as the stuff runs down Loki’s wrist, drips down into their laps.

“Used a bit too much,” Loki breathes. “It’s okay. Better than not enough.”

Then he’s scooting forwards again, holding Thor’s hand in his own and guiding it around behind him until their slick fingers are skating across the smooth skin of his arse cheek and further, into the cleft. His breath hitching softly, mouth close to Thor’s ear.

Like this, with his thighs wide over Thor’s own, he doesn’t need to tilt his hips much for them to find their goal. He gasps a little, like he’s found it with his own fingertips, and then he shifts them slightly until it’s Thor touching him - touching him _right there_.

It feels odd, warm and wrinkled as Thor makes exploratory little circles with the tips of his fingers.

Loki gasps like it feels good and so he does it again.

With his eyes closed and his lips parted around a sigh Loki rolls his hips back into the touch and Thor delights at the fluttering against the pads of his fingers, like Loki's body is begging for him.

He's nervous - nervous about hurting Loki or just not being very good - but Loki gasps against his cheek and rocks back towards his fingers again, his own fingers tightening where they still grip Thor’s.

"You can do it," he shivers, squeezing Thor's shoulders with his other hand like he's holding on for dear life. "Please."

Thor’s sure he’s never heard Loki say that word before.

Perhaps this is what it takes - to have him shivering, breathless, needy - in which case, Thor has a sudden desire to be the only person in the world Loki ever says it to.

Loki’s fingers slide up Thor’s until they pass the first knuckle and then he’s gripping, pushing, nudging Thor’s fingertips, encouraging him to push inside, and Thor does - what little breath he has leaving him in a rush as he feels Loki _open up_ for him.

It's like nothing he's ever felt, like his fingers are being sucked inside, tight and hot, and he presses in deeper, rushed by the envious twitching of his cock.

"Like this?"

"Go slow," Loki laughs a little, knocking his forehead against Thor's temple. "Your fingers are...are thicker than mine."

And there it is again, that visual of Loki in his bed fucking himself, fingers moving with a practised ease. He groans deep in his chest.

"Yeah, sorry," he says, pulling out slow and feeling the squeeze of Loki's muscle, loathe to let him go.

There's a soft, breathy laugh against his ear, but then he's pressing that same finger back inside slow and deep, and Loki's laugh breaks into a shuddering moan.

“That okay?” Thor whispers, painfully hard at the idea of feeling this same tight, slick warmth around his cock.

He’s not sure he’s going to be able to stand it.

Loki breathes, sighs, tilting his hips back, spreading his thighs a little further apart. “S’good,” he drawls, tongue lazy with it.

Thor had always thought guys in porn were probably faking it, that it must feel uncomfortable if not outright painful, but Loki’s hitching breath and the slow roll of his hips says otherwise.

When he asks for more Thor obliges, pressing a second finger in alongside the first, amazed further still by the tighter clutch of it, by the small incremental movements it takes to get back in up to the knuckle.

“Hang on,” Loki murmurs then, letting go of Thor’s hand and wiping the slick off his own fingers on his thigh. Wrapping both arms around Thor’s neck again he shuffles forwards until he’s tight against Thor’s chest again, their cocks nestled together between them. “Go on,” he murmurs. “Go.”

Once again, Thor does as he’s told, revelling in the wet, sucking sounds that accompany each thrust of his fingers as Loki's body strives to hold on to them, each one matched by Loki's increasingly uninhibited moans and heavy breathing.

Between them both of their cocks are leaking, messy, sliding together and along each other's bellies as they rock.

Thor finds Loki’s mouth, swallows his next moan. He feels Loki smile against his mouth and it warms him all the more, until he’s sure he’s going to burn up from the inside out.

"Now?" he says, anxious to feel Loki around him and concerned that if they do this for much longer he's going to come.

"Hold on," Loki pants, pulling away and off his lap despite Thor clamouring to keep him close.

He doesn't go far, only turning so that his back is to Thor's chest, straddling him again with legs wide, and when Thor looks up he can see them in the lit-up mirror of Loki's vanity table.

Catching his eye, Loki lets out a short laugh, shrugging as he leans back against Thor's chest. "I want to see."

Holding him tightly, one arm around his belly, Thor presses his mouth to Loki’s clammy shoulder. “What if it hurts more this way? Maybe we should lie down.”

Loki drops his head to the side so his temple is resting on Thor’s. “I want to see,” he repeats, no room for argument.

It should be no surprise that he wants to make a performance of even this.

They're both flushed, but Loki's cock is particularly pink, standing up to attention against the pale skin of his belly. It bobs as he rolls his hips.

"Put it in," he breathes, eyes fixed on their reflection where Thor's cock is nestled down between his own thighs, nudging up insistently between Loki’s slicked cheeks. "Fuck me."

The nervous frisson gives way to a deep need at those words, and Thor takes himself in-hand, let's out a gust of harsh breath against the damp nape of Loki’s neck.

"Don't we need...?" he gestures helplessly with a clumsy hand, hips already twitching up. What he means to say is, _More lube? More time? Are you sure you’re ready to-?_

He’s not sure _he’s_ ready to.

But Loki whines, reaches back to wrap one arm around Thor's neck in a way that stretches his torso, arches his back, and Thor can't help but run his palm up the cream-white expanse of skin, leaving a trail of slick in the wake of his fingers that makes Loki's stomach shine.

"Please," he says for the second time, and it is unmistakably a beg, "I want to. We're both...you want me, right?"

Thor's already too breathless to speak and so he just nods, encourages Loki up by the hips until he’s hovering. He has to find Loki’s hole with his fingers again - Loki keens brightly at the catch of Thor’s fingertips - and aims himself with the other hand until he can feel Loki's slick hole like a kiss against the tip of his cock.

When he looks up to their reflection Loki’s face is a picture of nervous determination and, with just a short nod, he grits his teeth and sinks down.

It takes a moment, takes a specific kind of _give_ , and then Thor’s cock is suddenly and overwhelmingly enveloped in the tight, hot grip of Loki's body. It's like no pleasure he's ever been able to provide himself with clumsy hands, and he wants immediately to fuck right up into it and never come out.

Except Loki's face tells a different story; tight and marred with what looks like pain, teeth still gritted.

"Hurts?" Thor says tightly, unable to muster other syllables, and tries to soothe with a gentle hand down Loki's side. Loki’s sweet, shuddering tightness around the head of his cock is so close to being almost too much.

"Yes," Loki breathes, fingers digging painfully into Thor's thigh. "Don't stop though."

Thor would laugh if he had the breath to spare. "I'm not sure I could."

But he takes hold of Loki by the hips, does his best to hold him up, to keep him from sinking any deeper down until he’s ready.

Though, honestly, Thor suspects it’s more the girth that’s the problem, and even in the face of Loki’s discomfort he feels an awful, selfish pride in that.

Loki blows a slow breath out between pursed lips, licks out to wet them. His legs are shaking from the struggle to take his own weight on the balls of his feet.

“We don’t have to,” Thor says, even as his body is telling him they absolutely have to, needy and greedy to be seated fully inside.

“Yes we do,” Loki says, and then he takes on that determined look again, squeezing Thor’s forearm as he pushes back and down again. They work together to let him sink down slow, bit by excruciating bit, until his thighs are flush on Thor’s and Thor is free to wrap both arms around his waist and kiss broadly at his neck.

“Fuck. I’m inside you,” he says, amazed, embarrassed that the thought managed to find its way out of his mouth.

Loki laughs, and Thor’s sure he can feel that on his cock too.

Loki hums, rests back fully against his chest, turning his chin until he can nose at the side of Thor’s face. “Trust me, it’s hard to miss,” he says.

His cock has gone mostly soft, Thor notices, disheartened. “It doesn’t feel good?”

“Mmm, feels strange,” Loki says, but he’s rocking his hips a little even as he does, nuzzling at Thor’s cheek like a kitten in need of attention.

Thor turns to kiss him, gentle at first, just the press of lips. It’s Loki who licks out, at Thor’s lips at first and then at his tongue when Thor opens up, a kiss like in pornos Thor has seen, intended to tantalize.

Sliding one palm, flat and with splayed fingers, around to Loki’s belly, Thor begins to stroke his torso, fingers catching on peaked nippled and then down to the soft thatch of hair above his cock and back, until Loki is barely kissing him at all but, rather, panting softly into his mouth.

On his next downwards stroke Thor goes further, takes Loki in-hand, gratified to find him hardening up again.

"Do something," Loki whispers, mouth against Thor’s. He sucks in a breath. "Fuck...fuck me."

"Yeah?" Thor asks, but even before he gets confirmation he's grinding his hips up, groaning low at the friction.

Loki digs his toes into the carpet and pushes his weight onto them, lifting himself off just an inch.

It’s like even that sucks all of the air from Thor’s body, and without conscious thought he’s chasing the tight heat with a quick thrust of his hips.

Loki cries out, dropping back down. His fingers curl tight around Thor’s.

“Sorry,” Thor murmurs between his shoulder blades, laying apologetic kisses. “I won’t move.”

In truth, it’s not a promise he’s sure he can keep. Even like this, still, letting out shallow breaths while he tries to adjust, Loki feels _unimaginably good_.

“Just go slow,” Loki says, sounding a little exasperated but still aiming soft eyes at Thor in the mirror.

They settle, instead, on the tried and tested method of rocking together, Loki rolling his hips, Thor pulling him in tight to grind against him, tucked deep inside.

When he reaches around again to palm at Loki’s cock - fully hard now, bobbing against his belly as he moves - the sound Loki makes burns him right to the core.

He’s still sure it would’ve been easier on the bed, but he can’t say he’s sorry for the mirror. Watching Loki is better than any porno, the sinuous way he rolls his hips, the seductive bite of his pink bottom lip.

Loki’s nape is salty as he lays kisses there, licks and nips at him. He finds himself chasing the taste, so wrapped up in Loki that even his sweat is appealing.

"How long have you wanted this?" he tilts his chin up to murmur, hot and needy and right into Loki's ear. He glances over his shoulder to the visible edge of the photograph of himself on the cork-board. He's never mentioned it, but he wants to know now, buried balls deep in Loki's heat. "Tell me how long you've wanted me."

The sound that escapes Loki is almost like a strangled laugh. "Stop," he says.

Thor lifts his hips hard enough to make Loki bounce and let out a surprised whine.

"How long?"

For a moment there's nothing but the sounds of their harsh breathing, the rustle of Thor’s jeans that have shifted down to his knees. They make an interesting picture, both of them flushed now and eyes locked in the mirror.

Thor's never seen anything as perfect as Loki rocking down onto him.

"Just..." Loki whispers, pointedly closing his eyes and turning his head until his nose drags against Thor's sweaty cheek. "Just always. Since I first saw you."

Affection swells in Thor's stomach, and a little bit of fear too. Loki would’ve been twelve then.

"I hated you, too," Loki says then, pausing to breathe, "So out of reach, so perfect and normal, so _straight_.”

They’re still moving, still rocking together. Thor mouths at Loki’s shoulder, at his neck. An apology, of sorts, though for what he’s not sure. Existing, perhaps.

Loki tilts his head, bares his throat for Thor’s mouth.

“Must’ve come as quite a surprise,” Thor manages to say, “when I kissed you."

Loki lets out a little breath, a little _'heh'_ , and nods. Then, before Thor can ask anymore questions, he sucks his bottom lip between his teeth and drives himself up and back down.

Thor’s pretty sure he’s going to die.

"Enough," he says. "Turn around."

It takes Loki a moment to stop moving, even with Thor's grip on him, and even then he doesn't stop completely, circling his hips ever so slightly, and Thor could close his eyes, lose himself in this, but he's loath to break their eye contact. 

"You want it face to face?" Loki says, already shifting to stand on shaky legs. They each make a noise as Thor's cock slips free.

"Here?" Loki gestures to Thor's lap as he turns, and as much as Thor enjoys the thought of looking Loki in the face as he bounces on his cock, he has another vision in his mind.

"Bed," he says, because full sentences are beyond him now.

He wants to lay Loki down and spread him out, fold his long legs up against his chest and slot in between his knees.

He takes the opportunity, while they’re up, to get his jeans off fully, nearly tripping over himself in his rush to get naked and get to Loki where he’s spread himself out on the bed.

“Thor!” Loki laughs, throwing his forearm over his eyes.

Somehow the laughter, even though it’s directed at him, soothes away what’s left of his nerves.

“Don’t laugh,” he says, laughing too, and tugs Loki to the edge of the bed.

Loki is surprisingly agreeable, laying there without a hint of self-consciousness and letting Thor manhandle him as he likes. Lets him crook rough thumbs in the bend of his knees, lets him hang back a moment and look his fill at the hole he’s opened up around his cock.

“Hold your knees up,” he says, stern, and Loki does it, eyes following Thor as he steps back over to the chair and reaches down for the abandoned bottle of lube.

“Oh, yeah,” Loki says, reaching down to touch himself where he’s pink and probably already a little sore. Thor’s cock twitches at the sight. He’d thought about gently fingering Loki again for a minute, slicking him back up nicely, but he’s certain now that he doesn’t have the patience.

With two pumps onto his hand, he drops the bottle back to the floor, slicks up his own cock and steps back between Loki’s legs. He gives a perfunctory sweep between Loki’s cheeks with what’s left of the slick on his hand, knocking Loki’s own hand away in the process.

Loki’s feet settle at the small of his back, tugging him in, and Thor watches himself sink back in.

“Ow, _god_ ,” Loki laughs as Thor bottoms out, brushing his hair out of his eyes.

Thor gives him a moment. It takes all the strength he has left.

As soon as he has a nod, he’s moving, pulling out almost to the tip and pushing back in, eyes shifting between Loki’s face and the outrageously hot sight of his cock being swallowed right to the root.

“Jesus, Thor,” Loki says, but he’s still pulling Thor in with his tightly wound legs, reaching up to touch Thor’s stomach, his chest.

Now that they’re face to face Loki’s eye contact feels so weighted, so intimate, and even though he’s the one with Loki spread out before him, Thor feels exposed and thoroughly observed.

He leans down, hands either side of Loki’s head - to tuck himself away using kisses as a distraction technique - and feels the cool rustle of something against his palm.

It dawns on him then, sudden..

“Oh shit, we didn’t use-” he lifts up the condom packet.

Loki only bats it out of his hand.

“Too late now,” he says. smirking like the thought occurred to him some time ago. “Better hope I don’t get pregnant.”

The withering look Thor tries to give him gets lost in the needy roll of Loki’s hips.

“Come on,” he says, tugging Thor back down to him, chest to chest, kissing lazily at his mouth. “Fuck me. Please.”

And, god, that word from Loki’s mouth really does something for Thor, deep and hot in his belly, and he obliges, picking up the pace a little this time.

Loki’s breath’s come out like sharp little whines, punched out of him by the pace and force of Thor’s thrusts, so reactive and sensitive to Thor's every move, whining when he shoves in particularly deep.

It’s like fucking music to Thor’s ears.

“Feel good?” he breathes out, gritting his own teeth. God it feels good. He’s not sure he’s got much more in him.

Loki nods, bites at his bottom lip, then - like an afterthought - lifts his head to bite at Thor’s.

Their kiss is messy, unrefined, both too distracted by the fucking to give it much finesse, but each slide of Loki’s lazy tongue only serves to stoke the fire more. They’re panting hot and heavy into each others mouths, neither getting enough air, and Thor pulls away to suck in a breath.

He can hear his heartbeat in his ears, can feel the blood thrumming fast and hard through him, his cock throbbing and his balls tightening up as he draws closer.

Loki’s feet bounce against Thor’s back as he let’s instinct take over, fucking fast and shallow, chasing the friction, rushing over the edge.

He comes so hard he’s pretty sure he blacks out for a second, palms slamming back down to the bed either side of Loki’s head as he tightens to all over, emptying himself into Loki’s welcoming body, still writhing beneath him.

To his own ears the sound he makes is nothing short of embarrassing, but Loki’s arms are around his neck, his hips lifting and shifting even as Thor holds still to ride it out.

When he opens his eyes, still hunched over Loki, still buried inside him, Loki is smiling up at him, petting at his jaw and neck.

He’s still hard, knees tightening and releasing around Thor’s waist like he’s trying not to roll his hips.

“You didn’t…” Thor says, disappointment seeping in alongside the lingering, tingling warmth of his orgasm.

“It’s okay,” Loki says, taking one of Thor’s hands from the bed and guiding it down his belly. “I think I’m close. Just stay there and…”

Thor gets the hint, slips his hand down further. Loki’s cock is hot and so hard. He strokes slow at first, root to tip, until Loki’s fist wraps around his own.

“Don’t let me lose steam,” he says, thrusting up into the clench of Thor’s fist, encouraging him to move faster, rocking down onto Thor’s cock still nestled inside him.

He looks perfect - a shiny mess, parted lips and hooded eyes, panting out heavy breaths, using Thor’s fist and cock to take what he needs.

“I can feel your cum in me,” he says, breathy, and though it seems like he’s saying it because he gets off on it, Thor feels his own over-sensitive cock twitch with it too.

He thinks about pulling out, shoving rough fingers into Loki instead, working him with both hands, but Loki’s ankles are crossed at the small of his back holding him in, using the grip to grind down against him.

Thor twists his wrist on the next stroke, hears the short inhale before Loki let’s out the first, broken gasp of his name.

“ _Th-or_.”

Many more desperate _Thors_ follow it, rising in pitch and volume the closer Loki gets, the harder Thor works at making him feel good.

“Are you close?” he murmurs, rolling his hips to meet Loki’s even though it feels like his dick is going to fall off if it doesn’t get a break soon. “Loki.”

Loki’s eyes flutter open, his mouth too, his hips shifting faster and faster until he suddenly freezes, tenses up in an arch. A near-pained look twists his features, his face unnaturally flushed, and a guttural cry escapes his throat.

He _tightens up_ around Thor too, in a way that makes him see stars.

Cum jets from him, up his stomach and over Thor’s fingers, each pulse of it coupled with a clench around Thor’s sensitive cock.

It’s too much, the feel of it, the sounds Loki’s making, the look on his face. Thor pets mindlessly at his thighs, trying to remember to breathe, and stays right where he is until the last small aftershock pulses through Loki’s body.

He pulls out slow, careful, too-aware of the way Loki’s jaw tightens in discomfort.

They’re both a mess, clammy with sweat and slick and sticky with cum, and he reaches down beside the bed, grabs up the first thing his hand touches.

“Not my shirt,” Loki says, gripping him by the wrist before he can wipe at Loki’s belly with it.

Thor has to suppress a laugh, in awe of how suddenly Loki has become disagreeable again.

“Has to be yours,” he says. “I have to wear mine home.”

“Could always wear your costume,” Loki teases, eying the hangers on his wardrobe door.

Thor’s unsure if he’s referring to the gold hot pants or the corset. Either way, he grumbles out a soft, “Fuck you.”

Like the Cheshire Cat, Loki grins. “I believe we just did that.”

Eventually, with a flick of his wrist he gives Thor the go ahead to clean them both up with his shirt, before tugging Thor down to lie on the bed too.

He drapes himself half across Thor, still breathing heavy and quicker than usual, and touches idly at Thor's softening cock, passing his palm across it like he's petting an animal until Thor, still over-sensitised, reaches down to stop him.

He sighs, nuzzles in, but when he glances up from under his lashes there's genuine question in his eyes.

"You liked it?"

Instead of batting Loki's hand away from his cock, Thor lifts it to his chest and lays it there, rests his own hand over it. He nods.

The silence that falls over them coupled with the hot press of their bodies makes Thor feel like he’s floating.

He never wants to leave this room.

"Me too," Loki whispers, and the soft kiss he presses against Thor's chin comes as a surprise.

Thor doesn't fall asleep but Loki seems to drift in and out, fingertips twitching occasionally against Thor's chest.

Thor feels surprisingly protective of him, watching him sleep, but far too soon Loki’s dragging himself up to sit - with a wince, Thor notes with a mix of guilt and pride - at the end of the bed.

"My father will be home soon," he says, regrettably and with a hand coming to rest on Thor's calf.

“Yeah,” Thor says, staying splayed out there for a moment longer.

They dress slowly, dragging it out, breaking into inexplicable, soft laughter whenever they catch each other’s gaze.

They don't kiss again until Thor's at the door, but it's long and lingering and says more than either of them can manage with words.

-

Thor texts in the morning, a quick - **How are you?**

He gets a one-word reply.

**Sore.**

-

** Rehearsals: Week Six **

Monday rehearsal is on the stage again, and Thor’s surprised to find that it's starting to look like a set. Since Loki’s been doing the costuming himself he didn't realise that other people would sort out the props and things.

“The woodwork class made it all,” Loki says later once everyone else has made their exits, stroking his hand along a tall backboard which looks like the outside of a castle. It's on wheels, and when it spins it around it's painted on the other side to look like the inside of a castle. It's clear that he's pleased with it. “The school make it part of the class project.”

Thor nods. He’s more certain now than ever that there are genuinely teachers who fear Loki’s wrath.

They manage a full run-through of the first half, though it takes almost two hours and Loki spends much of it in a huff.

Afterwards, Thor can't go to the cafe but he and Loki hang back anyway, sharing kisses behind the thick red curtains. They manage to drag themselves apart just shy of dry-humping on school premises but Thor has to cycle home at double-speed, cock semi-hard and restrained by his jeans, nudging uncomfortably against the seat of his bike.

-

There’s a strange dissonance to it all; the way they are when they’re alone together compared to the way they remain overly professional in rehearsals.

Compared to the way they still pass in the hallway without much more than a nod, like they barely know each other.

Some days Thor thinks Loki meets his gaze with a kind of smug and secretive pride, like he doesn’t mind how clandestine it all is, but other times, despite his practiced, neutral expression, Thor swears there’s a sadness to Loki’s face. Like maybe he wishes Thor would break away from his own friends and march over to kiss him without caring who might be watching.

Thor thinks about that sometimes, too, but no matter Loki’s appeal, the thought always comes with a degree of absolute horror.

He decides to stop catching Loki’s eye in the hallway altogether.

-

They spend stolen, spare moments kissing and fooling around, they text each other goodnight every night, and before and after rugby practise on the days Thor can’t make it to rehearsal. If Loki were a girl, there'd be no doubt in Thor's mind that they were dating.  
  
But Loki isn't a girl.  
  
On Tuesday night before bed he makes an offhand joke about whether or not he should be jealous about Thor being in the shower room with lots of handsome, athletic boys. He follows it up with a laughing emoji, but it makes Thor’s stomach drop - wondering if that’s what they’d all think too, if they knew.

-

On Wednesday he passes Loki and Amora by the lunch hall and pretends not to see them. He’s fairly sure he's entirely too obvious about it.

At rehearsal that night they manage to run through every scene from the first half without anyone flubbing a line, and Thor’s starting to wonder what they're going to do for the next week or so. He says as much to Loki once everyone else has left the annex, waiting by the door while Loki shuts off all the lights.

“Just wait until we try to do a full rehearsal and run an entire hour over,” Loki sighs. “I’ll never be allowed to lead a play again if we keep the audience here after eleven.”

He's been a little irritable for the last couple of hours, frowning and snapping, at one point marching over to Fandral’s mark and stamping on it when he missed it a second time.

“Having all the lines is one thing, but we still need to work on timing and bloody...sodding spacial awareness.”

He shoves the clothing rack aside with a huff, hangers clacking together as it rolls out of his way.

When he's by the door, reaching for the last switch, Thor leans into his path.

“What's up?” he murmurs, nudging his nose against Loki’s cheek. Despite all of his apparent stress, Loki smells wonderful and Thor takes a moment to breathe him in. Here in the dark of the empty annex he feels content and safe to be himself, and slips one hand up Loki’s t-shirt to rest at the small of his back. He's slightly clammy there, but it only makes Thor think of sex.

Like always, Loki molds right into the embrace, shoulders dropping out of their tense hold and hands coming, almost automatically, to Thor’s waist.

“It's nothing.” He breathes out a deep sigh which betrays his words.

Thor nudges at his cheek again. “Tell me.”

He wants to make Loki feel good, make him forget whatever’s bothering him, but when he tilts his head to take Loki’s mouth in a kiss he finds himself gently rejected with a turn of Loki’s cheek.

He's startled by it, pulling back. “What is it?”

Loki eyes him, mouth a flat line. “When are you going to come out, Thor?”

It catches in Thor’s chest, tightens his throat.

“Not...not yet.”

He feels Loki try to move, try to pull away, and desperately he clings tighter to his arms, holding him in place.

“Give me time, okay?”

He knows he’s being unfair, aiming big puppy eyes, but he does it anyway, surprised when Loki softens in his hold.

“That doesn't mean we can't still…” Thor gestures between them.

He can't quite bring himself to say it out loud here, on school grounds, and once that's apparent Loki scoffs.

“And I'm supposed to settle for this, am I? Sneaking kisses in the dark and sitting opposite you in a cafe every week pretending to be reading lines? As if we’re not just biding our time until we can go somewhere secret and fuck?”

Loki spits out the last word, makes it sound dirty and sordid. It's such a contrast to how it's actually been between them, how gentle and exploratory and special.

“Don’t say it like that,” Thor winces, running fingers through his hair. “You’re not _supposed_ to settle for anything, okay? You think I don’t know how much better you deserve? I just...I’m not _there_ yet, Loki. And you being pushy about it isn’t going to help.”

Silence settles around them, Thor awkward and Loki pensive, and after a moment Loki steps into his space, chin raised like maybe he’s going to lean in for a kiss.

Instead, he presses a gentle thumb between Thor’s brows. Thor realises he must be smoothing away a frown.

“We…” Loki starts, pausing to swallow. Thor feels his brow furrow again beneath Loki’s thumb. “We can stop, if it’s easier for you.”

His voice sounds strained and insincere, and he follows it with a smile that Thor thinks he probably would’ve bought only weeks ago.

He tries to imagine it. The anxiety it would alleviate, the weight off his shoulders, if he could go back to how it was before. He could be straight, rugby playing Thor again, free of worries, as was the plan before all of this. Just survive school.

But would it be _easier_? To have Loki close but be unable to touch, to no longer be subjected to his sardonic teasing, his secretive smiles, his kisses? And, worst of all, to know he’d given it up out of fear?

It doesn’t feel like it.

Thor pulls him in, kissing him soundly.

Smiling against his lips, Loki pulls away with an airy laugh. “Is that a no?”

“It’s a no,” Thor says.

“Okay.” Loki lets out a relieved breath. “Thank fuck for that.”

-

Thor thinks about it all evening.

Loki at his side in the hallway, their fingers laced together, leaning in for a quick kiss before they part for class.

They should have that, he thinks. Just like everyone else.

But then he thinks about everyone else; lingering looks, murmurs behind their backs, barely masked laughter at their expense.

It makes him feel sick and scared, and then the shame of that feeling makes him feel even more sick, and even more scared that he’s never going to shake it. That he’s going to feel this way forever.

That he’ll never actually deserve Loki.

And then he just feels sick, scared and incredibly sad.

He resolves that, if nothing else, they should be friends in the open. Loki deserves that at the very least.

-

In the morning he’s surprised to find Loki standing with Volstagg.

Locking his bike away and properly shouldering his backpack he makes a b-line for them, pleased to have the excuse to approach Loki in the open.

The closer he gets, though, the clearer it becomes that Loki‘s expression isn’t reflective of somebody enjoying their current conversation.

"Farmworth," Volstagg is saying when Thor gets within earshot.

Immediately, he doubles his speed, coming to stop beside them.

“Morning,” he says brightly, a little desperately, hoping to derail the conversation.

There's only ever one reason the team mention Farmworth School, and it's -

"They're our biggest rivals but they're Thor's favourite,” Volstagg says with a grin, clapping a heavy palm down on Thor’s shoulder in greeting. He jostles him slightly. “Isn’t that right?”

Loki's eyes slide to Thor's. "And why's that?"

Volstagg chuckles, jostling Thor again jovially, oblivious to the trouble he's causing as he repeats a lie Thor has told a hundred times.

"He lost his virginity to a girl from their school. Whenever we’re there they slip away together afterwards.”

With his teeth clenched and eyes imploring Loki to let him explain, Thor makes no move to deny it - he can't make a liar of himself in front of Volstagg now, not after keeping up the story all this time.

Loki's mouth twists, and his eyes flick to Thor only for as long as it takes for him to say, "How sweet."

-

After lunch Thor manages to strong arm Loki into the cupboard beside the Year 11 common room just after the bell rings. Loki huffs and puffs about it, but once they're shut in he only crosses his arms and levels Thor will a bored expression.

"I didn't lie to you," Thor says in a rush, palms up in surrender. "I lied to them, about the girl from Farmworth, okay? To stop them asking questions."

Tapping a foot, theatrically impatient, Loki nods for him to go on.

“I hadn’t had a girlfriend since Sif and I could hardly say that about her, could I? She wouldn’t have forgiven me.”

“But the girl from Farmfield is fair game?” Loki raises a tight brow.

“Farmworth,” Thor corrects, immediately sorry that he did because of the look Loki flashes at him. “And it was her idea. She’s gay too.”

Loki pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Right,” he says, and that’s it. No yelling, no disappointed sigh, no amusement at the misunderstanding.

A little lost, Thor takes a careful step into his space.

"I wouldn’t lie to you about that," he offers, taking gentle hold of Loki’s upper arms. “You were the first.”

He’s relieved when Loki does soften then, does sigh, dropping his hands to his sides.

“I hate this,” he says, low and serious. “I hate being a secret. There’s nothing wrong with being gay, Thor.”

“I know.” That fear tugs at Thor’s chest again, deep and primal, and he lets out a shaky breath. “I‘ll get there. Soon.”

Loki looks like he believes it even less than Thor does.

Reluctantly, he lets Thor pull him in.

-

They wait for the bell to ring before they slip out - mood improved by whispered promises and kisses that leave Thor’s lips tingling - and Thor watches Loki rush off to his class down the empty hallway.

His teachers won’t be as forgiving as Thor’s, who at this point mostly just oversee coursework and try laughably to act like streetwise life coaches.

It’s when he turns to go himself, in the opposite direction towards the science block, that he sees Heimdall there, perched on a table by the door of the common room, elbows on knees and gaze locked on Thor.

He says nothing.

Thor stands there, stuck to the spot, and waits, but Heimdall doesn’t move a muscle.

“I have class,” Thor eventually says, throat tight and heart pounding heavy in his chest.

He spends the afternoon feeling sick.

-

He spends rugby practice in a daze, eyes shifting to Heimdall far too often, searching his face as if it’ll help him guess what his friend is thinking.

He’d seen them. He’d seen Thor and the school’s openly gay theatre kid in a cupboard.

But he says and does nothing in reference to it, doesn’t even look at Thor particularly oddly except for when he pitifully lets the ball slip from his rasp.

It’s later, once they’re done and showered, all tired and weary from throwing themselves at each other, that Heimdall plants a hand on his arm.

“How about you push that while we walk?” he says, gesturing to Thor’s bike.

Thor’s fingers slip on the lock, hands suddenly trembling.

“Uh, no, I need to get back for dinner,” he offers up, which isn’t entirely a lie. He’s impressed with himself that his voice doesn’t wobble too much.

Heimdall nods, thoughtful. “Okay, well...next time.”

Nodding, Thor thumbs harder at the combination lock until one end finally clicks free. “Yeah,” he says, noncommittal. Next practice isn’t until Monday. He’s sure he can come up with a viable excuse by then.

 _Or_ , a deeply unimpressed part of him thinks, _the balls to just tell him the truth._

-

When he’s with Loki, he sometimes feels like he could. Feels like he could stand up and tell everyone, with frankly obnoxious enthusiasm, that he’s pretty sure they’re dating.

When Loki’s eyes are on him, mouth tilted up in a grin, eyes narrowed pleasantly with it - he feels then that he could shrug and tell Heimdall, “Yeah, we are and I am.”

He feels that way on Friday after another successful rehearsal, settled into their usual spot in the corner of the cafe; Loki with his boots toed off and his nose in a book, eyes trained studiously on the page even as his toes curl against Thor's inner thigh beneath the table.

"Stop that," Thor huffs, catching Loki’s foot and digging his thumb into the sole just hard enough to make him hiss low, teeth bared.

"You stop." Loki unsuccessfully tries to tug his foot free from Thor’s grasp. "Flirt."

Thor shakes his head, mock incredulity on his face. “Me? A flirt? Says you?”

Loki shrugs like he knows and doesn’t care, wiggling his toes against Thor’s hand.

People come and go from the cafe all evening never paying them any mind, so Thor barely even notices the jingle above the door.

He’s got his lips parted, his next line in the flirtation-rally almost out of his mouth, when a slow recognition settles over him.

Voices he knows, over by the counter. Suddenly he’s sitting up straighter, immobilised by the unexpected collision of worlds.

Eric and three of the other guys from rugby, with the team mascot trailing behind them, form a line at the counter, jostling each other obnoxiously while they peruse the chalk-art menu.

Thor shuffles his chair back, hearing Loki's foot drop unceremoniously to the floor.

He'd throw Loki an apologetic look if his eyes weren’t glued to their backs, gripped with fear that they’re going to turn and see him - see _them_ , alone here at close to eight o'clock at night.

They don’t spot him, too caught up in their own conversation, and when they eventually file out the door with their to-go cups in hand he lets out a sharp breath.

He looks back to Loki then, sheepish, and finds himself levelled with a look so cold it makes his stomach churn.

"No need to panic, Thor," Loki snips at a low volume.

There’s something else in Loki’s expression, beyond the anger, that Thor can’t bring himself to study too deeply.

He shrugs, lying, "I didn't. I wasn't."

Raising a brow, mouth pinched tight, Loki looks pointedly back down to his book.

They barely speak at all in the time that follows.

-

They stand side-by side, sheltering beneath the fabric canopy over the cafe door. Across the road, rain is bouncing off the seat of Thor’s bike where it’s locked to the lamppost.

“You don’t have to wait,” Loki murmurs, for the third time since the cafe owner apologetically pulled the shutters closed behind them.

His jaw is tight.

“I’m staying,” Thor tells him again, turning to face him a little. “Loki, I-”

“Do you have any idea how small it makes me feel when you freeze up at the idea of being sat opposite me in a cafe, Thor?” Loki says - not like he’s angry, but like he’s _tired_.

Which is far worse.

“Loki,” Thor says with a shake of his head, wishing he were better with words.

Loki goes on, as if Thor hadn’t spoken at all. He doesn’t look Thor’s way, eyes focused somewhere in the road almost like he’s talking to himself.

“How am I supposed to keep letting you kiss me and touch me as if you really want me if you don’t even want to _be seen_ with me?”

The canopy has him cast half in shadow, the streetlight’s glow only lighting the bottom half of his face, but Thor would have to be blind not to see the deep furrow between his brows.

The downward tilt of his mouth.

His own voice catches in his throat. “You know it’s not like that.”

When he’s finally graced with Loki’s gaze, there’s no anger there, no sour twist to his pretty mouth. Thor knows there’s no button he can press to trigger a fight, to whip him up into a passion.

He just looks utterly and thoroughly sad.

“It doesn’t matter what it’s _like,_ Thor, it matters how it makes me _feel_. And it makes me feel like shit.”

When he sighs again, there's as much resignation to it as reluctance. Whatever he's about to say he doesn't want to, and suddenly Thor doesn't want him to say it either.

A dark, heavy dread unfurls in his stomach as Loki meets his eyes and, lost for words, he reaches blindly for something to say, some defense of himself.

“You knew what you were getting into,” is all he has.

He holds out his palms in surrender, feeling like his heart is in them; vulnerable and at Loki’s mercy.

 _Please,_ he thinks, tries to say with his eyes. _Please._

After a moment, Loki looks back to his spot in the road. “And now I know what I'm getting out of.”

It feels as though the air has been knocked from Thor’s chest, an impact not unlike being rugby tackled.

“Loki…” he gets out, mouth suddenly dry and eyes suddenly wet.

But then there are headlights in the rain, and Byleister’s big black car pulls to a stop in front of them, the passenger-side window buzzing down until he’s visible only from the nose-up.

“Need a lift home, big guy?” he calls out.

But Loki’s already stepping into the downpour to yank open the door with a snipped, “No.”

“I’ll call you.” Thor’s voice wobbles on it.

Two pairs of green eyes are on him for just a moment through the open window, before Loki gives a sharp nod.

Then the window buzzes back up, leaving Thor looking at his own, sad reflection in the black glass.

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I know, I know. Sorry.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A final huge thank you to [Tear](https://twitter.com/tear_n_tear) and the [Baby Bang Mods](https://twitter.com/thorkibigbang). <3
> 
> And thank you to everyone who has read, left kudos or commented - I hope you all find this a fitting and satisfactory ending. <3

** Chapter Three  
** Final Week of Rehearsals

Thor sends nineteen texts over the next couple of days, most consisting of the word sorry, but gets no reply and, though before it had been him purposefully avoiding public interaction, his chest still pangs sharply whenever Loki passes him in the hallway and doesn’t so much as offer him a glance.

To Loki’s credit he doesn't treat Thor any differently in front of the others in rehearsals. He still directs him and acts beside him as if nothing has changed - as if they're nothing but costars and never were - but in the quiet moments between scenes when everyone’s attention isn’t on them, Loki struggles to look him in the eye.

A partially-costumed run-through reveals a problem with Leah’s outfit - namely, that the minutest bit of wiggling has her striped shorts falling down her thighs - so Loki goes about taking the waist in while the rest of them carry on acting around him.

He mumbles through his parts and his actions, lips pressed tight around a line of pins, and when they get to the big scripted kiss between Rocky and Frank he murmurs, “Then we kiss, _blah blah_.”

Amora has her arms crossed. “Assuming Thor isn't going to chicken out.”

All heads turn to her, but everyone's attention is clearly actually on Thor, waiting to see if he'll respond.

“Excuse me?” Loki says after letting the pins drop to his open palm.

Amora shrugs. “What? It's been six weeks and he still hasn't kissed you, excuse me if I'm a little concerned that he's not going to follow through on the night.”

There’s an awkward tension in the rehearsal space then, palpable, everyone’s eyes shifting from Loki, to Thor, to Amora and back.

“It's not an _icky_ schoolyard dare, Amora,” Loki scowls, fire in his eyes, managing to turn it on her even though it's clear she wasn’t trying to insult him.

She splutters, visibly taken aback. “I wasn’t-”

“I’m the director, not you,” Loki speaks over her with authority, “and in future you should keep your _concerns_ to yourself.”

Thor suspects it's not often that Loki takes such a tone with her.

Her hands clench into fists at her sides, mouth a tight, unhappy line. “Maybe in future you should think twice before casting a homophobe to play your boyfriend!”

The accusation hurts, but Thor’s too shocked to defend himself. Him, a homophobe? Everyone's eyes are flicking between the three of them still, eating up the drama of it. Leah’s gaze lingers on Thor, curious and almost-disappointed, but before Thor can reassure her of anything, Loki pipes up through gritted teeth.

“He's not a homophobe, he's uncomfortable.”

“He hasn’t been too uncomfortable to put his hands on Sif during _Touch Me_ ,” she says - which is a lie because he absolutely has been uncomfortable with that - and then she throws out to the rest of the room, “Besides, can someone remind me of the definition of homophobia?”

Nobody answers her.

“I'm not homophobic,” Thor mumbles, unable to muster as much volume as he’d hoped. Shifting his eyes to Loki, he says, “I'm not even uncomfortable, really...I mean, if you want to kiss we can-”

“No,” Loki snaps, turning on him. He seems livid that Thor would even dare suggest it. After an intense moment he turns back to Amora, saying more calmly, “We’ll kiss on the night of the performance.”

He turns back around to Leah, speaking quietly to her about the adjustments he's made on her costume, but Thor can tell even without seeing his face that he's upset; his shoulders tense and his chin dipped like he's avoiding eye contact even with his cousin.

Amora’s eyes linger on him, and if she's seeing what Thor’s been seeing all week then he can't blame her for being concerned about him. And she probably doesn't even know the half of it.

After a moment her eyes shift to Thor, her expression hard. “Try not to flinch, won't you?”

Thor tilts his chin up. “I won't flinch.”

-

He waits by the school gate, far enough away from Byleister’s waiting car to not get dragged into an uncomfortable conversation - or run over as promised.

Amora and Loki take longer to lock-up than expected, and when they emerge into the bright white glow of the school floodlights they’re linking arms, Amora’s mascara streaked down her cheeks like she’s been crying.

“Go on,” Loki tells her as they spot Thor, patting her elbow.

She goes, wiping at her face before opening the car door and disappearing inside.

“Is she okay?” Thor asks.

Loki lifts one shoulder. “Nothing a mirror won’t fix.”

He squints up at the floodlight, sighing.

“She’s fine,” he offers. “We’re fine. We fight all the time, actually. She’s just worried I’m...pining for something I can’t have.

He sounds sad, vulnerable. Thor hates himself.

“Which I suppose I am,” Loki goes on, voice hardening now. “But don’t worry, I didn’t tell her about us.”

The word ‘us’ comes out clipped and sharp, making it sound like it’s the dirtiest secret, as though he thinks Thor’s shame is about him rather than entirely personal.

And though Thor would like to blame Loki’s oldest brother for this, for Loki’s notion that he’s something to be belittled and ashamed of, he knows that his own careless behaviour has only served to validate whatever beliefs Helblindi had instilled in Loki over the years.

“I miss you,” he says, because sorry doesn’t seem enough and there are no promises he could make that he’s sure he’d keep.

Loki laughs, short and without humour. “I’m sure your hand will suffice.”

“Loki...” Thor says, reaching out.

But Loki only dodges him, heading off down the path.

“I’ll see you at the next rehearsal, Thor,” he says, striding away. “And stop texting me.”

-

He’s distracted in class, hopeless at rugby, feeling tense and sad and often sick as well. He’s impatient with Balder at home and faces his mother’s rarely-seen wrath as a result - it doesn’t help that he’s spending the week leading up to the show eating almost nothing but plain chicken and salad – a last-ditch attempt to look as lean and cut on stage as is possible.

He can’t help but sigh loudly during rehearsal when Loki stops the band – a rag-tag group of five other students that each happen to play different instruments – for the ninth time to ask if any of them are, in fact, considered clinically deaf.

The sigh earns him Loki’s ire also, though it’s a silent seethe rather than the vitriol he aims at the poor band.

At night he rushes through his plain chicken dinner, disappearing into his room to half-heartedly watch porn on his phone before bed, stomach churning when they start to kiss. Most nights he closes the window without even touching himself.

-

On Wednesday, between classes, as the population of the school shuffles like cattle from annex to annex, Heimdall falls into step at Thor’s side.

He’s got a weird look on his face, fingers worrying the straps of his backpack.

“You know if you wanted to talk, if there was anything you wanted to tell me…” he says, far less confident than Thor recalls ever seeing him. He lets the rest of the sentence hang there.

“I’m fine,” Thor says, feeling anything but.

Heimdall nods, quiet the rest of the way to Thor’s building.

“You know,” he starts again before Thor can launch himself inside to escape the awkwardness.

He looks very serious. Thor feels his stomach churn.

“I like him,” Heimdall says, shrugging loosely. “Laufeyson, I mean.”

Loki is not well-liked by many, least of all the rugby team - largely owing to teenaged prejudice, sure, but there’s an element to which his own disdain for the ‘morons’ on the team has deepened the wedge.

Thor’s certain he’s never heard Heimdall say a positive word about him.

“Okay,” Heimdall concedes, laughing a little like Thor’s face betrays his disbelief. “He’s bossy and honestly kind of mean a lot of the time, but he _is_ funny. And Amora always said he’d do anything for her, or, you know...anyone else he cares about.”

He looks right at Thor’s face when he says that part.

“I’m just saying, if someone were to... _really_ like him…” Another shrug. Like it’s all casual. “I’d get it.”

It’s an opening. An opportunity for Thor to let Heimdall in on the secret that has been eating away at part of him for so long.

He chokes.

“Okay,” is all he says on it. “I’m gonna head in.”

-

Their Dress Rehearsal that night goes well, though they still run twenty minutes over.

Despite having made up after the argument about Thor, Loki and Amora end up in another heated discussion about whether or not to cut scenes to save time, and in the end everyone else changes out of their costumes and leaves them to it.

Sif climbs onto the back of Thor’s bike and clings to him as he cycles her home, arms around his waist and cheek pressed between his shoulder blades. For a moment it feels just like it used to, back when they were dating and everything seemed a little bit simpler.

She rests her hand on the top of his head once she's climbed off the bike, aiming a serious look at him.

“What have you done to Loki?” she asks, gentle and without real blame.

Thor knocks her hand off and smooths down his hair. He opens his mouth once, twice, and then a third time before he's able to say out loud, “We’ve been…”

 _Fooling around_ is what he's trying to say, but he can't bring himself to call it that, to cheapen it with those particular words.

Sif seems wholly unsurprised, but rather than judgemental of his behaviour like Thor expects her to be, she looks at him pityingly and says, “Oh, Thor.”

It’s awkward when she pulls him into a hug, him still on his bike and trying desperately to accept the embrace without losing his balance.

It's a nice, comforting hug and Thor lets it linger, needing it.

“You can still fix it,” she murmurs against the top of his head. “He's not as unreasonable as his reputation would suggest.”

Thor nods against her shoulder. “I know he’s not, but I don’t know if I can...I don’t know if I can _be_ this.”

She holds him tighter at that, longer still.

When she pulls back, her eyes are glassy, like a blink would send tears down her cheeks. She shakes her head, taking hold of him by his cheeks. “Thor, this is who you are. And everyone who loves you now will love you the same, or maybe even more, once you’re able to let them see it.”

Thor nods. And then it’s him who can’t see for blurry, unshed tears.

-

** Show Time **

The day of the show, they’re all excused from classes.

Thor can’t believe it.

Loki had arranged it with the - clearly terrified - teachers, to allow the cast to tighten up any mishaps that occurred during the Dress Rehearsal, but there isn’t that much for Thor to do and so he spends the entire day working himself up into a nervous frenzy.

He texts Heimdall four times asking whether or not he’ll help him fake his own death, receiving only eye-roll emojis and gifs of Rocky from the film in response.

They’re all in their costumes for most of the day, and Thor is thankful for the fluffy white robe he’d found hanging up alongside his shorts. Sif and Amora do their own make-up, then Leah’s, and eventually Loki’s, who Thor suspects could’ve done his own but enjoys the pampering.

A buzz of excitement begins to roll over them all and, occasionally, when Sif or Fandral or Leah come to chat to him, he even catches his own anxiety about the whole thing morphing into something more like excitement, like it’s catching.

-

The red curtain is old and worn, nowhere near enough to mask the mumbling drone of the eager crowd beyond, and Thor is standing just feet from it, trying to catch his breath. White socks and the famed gold hot pants make up the entirety of his outfit, save for the generous dusting of shimmery body powder Loki had ordered Sif to throw on him.

His heart is pounding in his chest.

“Hey.” Cool fingers slip around his wrist, Loki's voice uncharacteristically gentle like he's read Thor’s nerves. It's the first physical contact they've had in weeks and Thor wonders if Loki can feel his quickening pulse. “It's going to be fun, I promise.”

Thor nods half-heartedly. Two costume fittings and a dress rehearsal haven't made him any more used to seeing Loki like this; with blush on his high cheekbones and blood-red lips, fishnet stockings showing off his long, pale legs. He's beautiful, and Thor’s chest aches.

“You know,” Loki says, looking off at the curtain, eyes glazed like he’s really listening to the buzz of the crowd on the other side of it. “There isn’t actually a kiss in the script.”

Thor nods. He had noticed.

“I only said it to wind you up at first, but then I thought, well…I’ve always wished there was one, and we’d already kissed at Heimdall’s party so why not throw one in?”

The others are gathered at stage-left a few feet away waiting for their pre-show pep-talk and Loki follows Thor’s gaze over to them.

“It wasn’t fair of me, and on reflection I think we shouldn’t do it. It’s not necessary. Not with the whole rugby team out there - the whole school, practically - and your family.”

He looks back at Thor then, and though he’s trying his best to be neutral and professional, the sad, downwards tilt of his lips doesn’t escape Thor’s notice.

Thor’s heart is thunking quicker in his ears. He’s nervous for the play, scared of forgetting a cue or singing the wrong note, but he knows that all of that has nothing to do with the thundering of his heart right now.

Tonight is their one and only performance, and once the curtains are drawn there’ll be no more rehearsals, no more excuses to spend time in Loki’s company. If he doesn't fix things soon, or at least try to, then tonight will likely mark the end of something that he isn't willing to give up.

“Anyway,” Loki says in the face of Thor’s silence, clapping his hands once like he’s got too much energy and doesn’t know where to put it. It’s the most awkward Thor has ever seen him. “Break a leg! You’ll be great.”

-

Once the curtains have opened - to raucous applause - the ‘backstage’ area is pretty confined, and requires too much silence for most of them to manage. They use the PE changing rooms down the hall to come and go from when they’re not around for a few scenes. 

Loki’s got two little black-haired first years with clipboards running to and fro to ensure the cast know when they’re due up, but Thor finds that he’s pretty much glued to the side-stage, watching first as Sif and Fandral open the show, their over-the-top American accents going down a treat. Next the crowd meet Skurge, suitably creepy and funny in equal measure, followed by Amora, Leah, and the handful of chorus actors - all of whom jump enthusiastically into the Time Warp.

As promised, Volstagg is there in a weird wig.

To Thor’s surprise, members of the crowd seem to be singing along, and even doing the dance in their seats.

And then it’s Loki’s entrance.

_Sweet Transvestite_

It’s like he’s literally electric, the way the energy sizzles off him as he wins over the crowd, strutting around in his heels and corset with confidence and magnetism that Thor’s sure nobody his age should possess.

It only serves to make him even more nervous about his own performance.

Which is coming up any minute.

He’s to be rolled onto stage on a reclaimed old hospital trolley covered in a sheet, and one of the black haired kids quietly wheels it out, lifting a white sheet for Thor to slip underneath.

He can only hear the scene then, Loki giving his monologue about knowing the secret of life itself, and he hears Skurge come and grab the trolley.

“You’re up, Champ,” he says, wheeling him onto the stage. It sounds sincere enough, but Thor is too nervous to reply.

Any minute now he’s supposed to whip the sheet off of himself and leap to his feet, revealing…well, revealing almost every inch of his body, apart from that which is covered by his incredibly small gold hotpants, to a crowd made up of his teachers, his peers and his _parents_.

He still can’t really believe that he let Loki drag him into this, but, well, it’s become pretty apparent in recent weeks that he’d do almost anything for Loki Laufeyson.

 _Except come out_ , his brain offers.

The trolley hits centre stage and stops, Skurge moving back to his mark, and as the sound of electrical charge rises and rises, Thor steels himself, waiting for his queue. It seems to last forever, but when sound comes to an eventual screeching halt, he has just enough time to suck in one last, deep breath before tossing the sheet off of himself and leaping up from the trolley.

In his tiny gold shorts.

The laughter he’d been fearing all along sounds out from the crowd, and for a moment he almost considers rushing off-stage, until it registers that it isn’t really laughter at all, but rather something more...good natured than whatever he’d conjured up in his head. The crowd are clapping and cheering - and there are a couple of obnoxiously loud wolf-whistles too, that he’s pretty sure are all coming from Heimdall.

The stage lights beam down and warm his skin, but he’s pretty sure the bloom of warmth in his stomach and chest is all about the crowd’s reaction to his arrival.

It feels like winning the last rugby match of the school season except he hasn’t even done anything yet.

He wants the moment to hang for longer than it does but, through the noisy crowd, he hears the band already playing the intro of his song.

He rushes to the front of the stage, to hear them better in order to avoid missing his cue, but the crowd go even wilder at his new proximity.

Leah whizzes after him to casually hand him the mic, and it’s far less natural a handover than it would’ve been if he’d stayed in the intended spot, but he lifts the thing and rushes nervously into the song all the same.

He hits several bum notes, particularly one that he’s supposed to let hang for a moment and instead drops immediately as soon as he realises he’s not quite hit it, but he finds himself managing to have fun regardless, being chased around the stage by Loki - who, for the most part, just looks heart-warmingly proud of him.

He gets a generous applause from the crowd once it’s over, and almost turns to head off-stage - job done - until Loki turns him around, reminding him that there’s an entire series of scenes to do before he’s next allowed back-stage.

Volstagg’s big entrance - and subsequent exit - is shortly after that, and takes the attention off Thor and Loki for long enough that Thor is able to catch his breath.

He’s enjoying just standing around watching, which he’s able to do largely because Rocky is supposed to wear on his face the kind of dumb wonder Thor experiences while everyone is giving it their all around him.

It occurs to him pretty suddenly, as Loki is hacking Volstagg to death with a polystyrene pickaxe and Volstagg is trying to disguise his belly-laughing, that...any minute now, Loki is going to start singing the reprise of Make You A Man.

And then Thor is going to sweep him up into his arms and carry him off-stage as the music transitions without subtlety into a guitar solo of the Wedding March.

That moment, just before Thor is supposed to sweep him up, is where Loki had scripted the kiss.

For the entire rest of the scene, as Loki approaches him and says his lines, and starts up his singing again, Thor can feel his heart thumping in his chest, a rising and quickening _thrum_ that has sweat beading on his forehead faster than the glare of the stage lights.

He’s not sure why at first, why there should be anything more significant about this scene than any of the others, but as he watches Loki prowl around the stage completely and entirely in character, smirking and flirting, every word - every _breath_ \- overflowing with conviction, Thor is suddenly struck by a realisation.

He’s going to do the kiss.

Regardless of how unnecessary Loki had deemed it before the show, quietly and regretfully, Thor knows right now with nerve-wracking certainty that he’s going to do it.

Audience be damned.

Loki’s just drawing to the end of his song, those deep-red lips curling effortlessly around the sustained last note, and Thor wills himself to move his feet. To make it over to Loki and take hold of him like they’d always discussed back when the kiss was on the cards.

He clenches his fists, lets his eyes slide just past Loki’s glistening bare shoulder to the other side of the stage, and, entirely by accident, he catches Amora’s eye.

She quirks a brow.

And that does it.

Two steps and he’s there, spinning Loki to face him.

When Loki gasps in surprise the crowd do too, one loud and simultaneous drawing of breath – and for a moment it just hangs there.

“Wh-” is about all Loki gets out before Thor slips two fingers into the front of his corset and tugs him close until their bodies are flush, sequins catching and scraping at his own chest.

Loki’s eyes are wide, wild, the green of his irises set-off so perfectly by the glittering pink make-up and long eye-lashes.

Thor sucks in a breath, stares deeply into those eyes for just a moment more, and says, “How’s this for necessary?”

And then he kisses him.

The crowd erupt into a chorus of whoops and cheers, and it feels to Thor like Loki - for just a moment - lets himself get a little lost in the kiss.

Then he pulls back, eyes just as wide as they were before. “Um?” he murmurs, looking so genuinely stunned it makes Thor’s belly flip.

And then, because they’re forgetting themselves, Thor sweeps Loki up into his arms and carries him off-stage.

-  
  
The stage goes dark behind them, an upright board fashioned to look like a bed being rolled onto the stage to change the set to a bedroom.

Once they’re out of sight Thor drops Loki to his feet.

Loki immediately takes a few steps away, shoulders heaving - either from exhilaration or anger, Thor can’t tell - and Thor feels his own doing the same. There’s a strange feeling sitting heavy in his stomach, like giddiness and nausea morphed together, and he finds himself staring into Loki’s eyes again like he did on stage. His stomach drops a little when they narrow.

“Are you _mad_?” Loki asks, actually wagging a finger.

Thor shrugs, trying to keep it light. “No, but it seems like you kind of are.”

Loki throws him a sidelong glance, leaning down to appraise himself in one of the mirrors. “You took me by surprise, Thor, actors don’t _do_ that to each other. What if I’d messed up my next line?”

“Yeah right,” Thor nods, watching as Loki glides a thumb beneath his lip to neaten his lipstick, slightly smudged by their kiss. “Like you don’t know every line of every character in that show.”

It appears that Loki can’t really argue with that, the way his mouth opens and closes a few times, but his eyes are still narrowed and his shoulders still heaving.

Nevertheless, Thor can’t help but feel thrilled with himself.

“Loki,” Leah rushes into them, waving madly. “You’re-”

“Back on,” he finishes for her. “I know.”

He takes two steps, then stops, turning back to Thor.

“You and I are going to talk later,” he says, sternly.

And then he’s gone, breezing past Thor back out onto the stage, where he’s going to replace Fandral in the bed with Sif.

-

Thor’s not sure how they get through the rest of the show on time but, somehow, they just _do_.

Members of the crowd sing along, laugh, fall into anxious silence. They clap after almost every scene, which Thor starts to find a little annoying before the end.

Thor and Sif perform the embarrassing _Touch Me_ scene without blushing or giggling, and Thor tries to think really hard about _anything in the world_ except the fact that their parents are in the crowd.

Though, once he realises how much of the play she has to spend in a tiny white negligee, he feels a little better about his little gold shorts.

At the climax, as they all don their corsets, fishnets and heels for the final song, Thor sings his verse and twirls his feather boa feeling, pretty much, like an absolute pro.

The whole thing starts to feel a bit chaotic by the end as they all get caught up in the excitement of it all, Sif, Leah and Fandral doing an unplanned Can-Can that nearly costs Fandral a stiletto and an audience member an eye.

Loki’s final song, as Amora and Skurge turn on him, is far, _far_ more dramatic than Thor could’ve ever imagined, and by the end of it, as Thor lifts him into his arms and stumbles theatrically until the lights drop and they’re all swallowed in darkness.

Loki wriggles out of his arms just in time for the lights to come back up, and the entire crowd seem to be on their feet.

Thor’s mother is there just a few rows back, beaming with pride - clapping with a kind of enthusiasm he’s never quite seen her muster for a goal scored by Balder – and Odin, too, is on his feet.

Heimdall, from his seat in the front row, is basically howling like a wolf, intermittently clapping and jabbing his fingers enthusiastically at the stage. And, to Thor’s surprise, a large chunk of the rugby team are at his flank, clapping too and answering the howl of their leader.

It’s an absolute cacophony of sound, and it takes Thor by surprise how wholly and completely he finds himself basking in it.

He’s sang in skimpy pants, he’s kissed a boy, he’s wearing a corset – and they’re not laughing at him. _Nobody_ is laughing.

He’s so distracted by the swell of warmth and pride in his chest that he jumps a little at the feel of Loki’s hand sliding softly into his. He’s touched by the gesture for a moment, forgetting this is part of the whole deal until Sif’s hand is sliding into his other one.

They’re making a chain, of course, so that Loki can lead them all in a final bow. 

And he does, to further whoops and cheers and wolf-whistles, having them all bow once, twice, a third time.

When they file off the stage Loki stays where he is, basking too, reaping the fruits of his hard work.

Thor watches him there from the side of the stage. With the spotlight on him, where he belongs.

-

“Thor!” Frigga rushes to him, taking his hand and shaking it around excitedly.

Odin comes up behind her, smiling and nodding. “That was fun,” he says, all casual. “Though, if I’m honest, I’m not entirely sure what it was all about.”

Frigga grabs Sif as she’s passing and gives her hand a similarly enthusiastic shake before letting Sif rush off to find her own parents.

They leave him and all of the excitement behind, telling Thor to stay safe and to pop his head into their room when he gets home.

They seem to be under the impression that there’ll be some kind of cast afterparty, though if that’s the case Thor certainly hasn’t been invited.

He finds Loki across the hall, still in his fishnets and heels but covered up by the white gown Thor had been using backstage. His make-up is smudged and a little sweaty, and still he looks absolutely perfect.

Byleister is a few feet from him, and when Thor approaches he gives a short nod, face giving nothing away.

“Did you want to tell me off now?” Thor says when Loki’s eyes land on him.

Eyeing the crowd, Loki chews lightly at his bottom lip, lip-stick staining the edge of his teeth.

And, still, he looks perfect.

“Backstage will be quiet now, I think,” he says.

And it is. Dark, too. It makes Thor think of late nights after rehearsals, stolen moments in hallway cupboards.

They’re silent for a little while.

“I know you said it wasn’t necessary,” Thor says, staring at his corset hanging up now, never to be worn again. “But I wanted to do it. I wanted to kiss you in front of everyone.”

A little dimple forms in Loki’s cheek as the corner of his mouth lifts a little. Thor’s never noticed it before.

“Well, it’s hardly the first time you’ve kissed me without warning,” Loki says.

It’s flirtatious, definitely, and so Thor steps a little closer. He’s never stopped feeling the charge between them, even the whole time Loki has been avoiding or outright ignoring him.

“How would you feel about me doing it again?” he murmurs.

Loki sighs, and it’s the first time in a week that his expression has held any semblance of warmth when aimed Thor’s way. His hands, free now of the fishnet gloves he’d been wearing all night, come up to cup gently at Thor’s cheeks. “Oh Thor,” he says softly.

It would be enough to give Thor hope, it Loki’s eyes didn’t seem so incredibly sad.

“You think that’s all it takes?” he says, softly, not mocking. His thumb is gentle as he smooths it across Thor’s cheek. “One big gesture and everything is okay? Back into hiding, happily ever after?”

“Who said hiding? I-” Thor breaks off. Of their own accord his hands come up too, sliding from Loki’s elbows to grasp at his wrists. “I don’t even care.”

Loki steps away, then, puling his wrists free. Somehow he does that just as gently as the caress.

“No, you were right,” he says. “I shouldn’t push you to come out. You get to choose when and how that happens.”

Frustrated, Thor puffs up his chest. It comes out like a threat when he says, determined, “I’ll go out there right now and yell about it.”

And Loki laughs, good-natured. “Thor,” he says, shaking his head. “You’re coasting on adrenaline. I think you should at least sleep on it.”

His tone, so matter of fact, leaves no real room for argument, and when Thor takes a moment he becomes uncomfortably aware of the strange energy coursing through him from head to toe.

“It’s basically a drug,” Loki says, patting him on the arm.

And if he’s right then Thor can understand why it is that people get into the arts. He feels like he could take on the world.

They lapse back into silence then, listening to the thrum of people talking about in the main hall, and when he looks over again he realises that Loki is smiling at him.

“You were brilliant, you know,” he says, shrugging one shoulder.

Thor huffs, thinking back over his performance. It feels much like a blur. “Even the song?”

He immediately forgives Loki the slight cringe he’s not able to hide. He did ask, after all.

“You were just...” he breathes, searching for an adequate adjective and coming up blank.

Loki laughs at him again, though it’s clear he gets it, and that he’s flattered.

They head back out together, finding the cast in a cluster, and before Thor heads off he’s pulled into several hugs; first by Leah, then unexpectedly by Skurge, and finally by Amora, who squeezes him tight and tells him, secretly, “Okay. Maybe I’m impressed.” 

-

Thor signs up to help the guys from woodwork dismantle the set over the weekend so that all is back to normal by assembly on Monday.

He’s disappointed to find out that Loki didn’t.

-

It was adrenaline, he decides, but he still gives it the thought that Loki suggested.

He gives it a lot of thought.

He thinks about he’d felt up on stage, how everyone’s cheering and acceptance of that ridiculous play - and, okay, a bloodstream full of adrenaline - had given him the confidence to almost do it. To almost come out.

He thinks about Heimdall, how he absolutely knows and has done nothing but make small, nudging attempts to show his support.

He thinks about his parents, and how they’ll love him just the same, either way. How, maybe, like Sif said, they might even love him even more because he’s let them in.

And he wonders what the worst case scenario might be. Getting laughed at a little by some low-lives in school? Being the subject of a pre-game chant if word gets around the other teams in the area?

Or, he thinks, is this worst-case-scenario this? Loki being at arms length, still hurt, trying to protect himself from someone who isn’t ready to love him.

He makes a decision.

It takes two days - two days of feeling scared and sad and messy inside, but eventually he sucks in a deep breath, heads into the living room and says, “I’ve got something to tell you.”

His parents eye him from across the room, faces lit by the dancing light of the television. Both with brows furrowed in concern.

He lets out a long breath, thankful that Balder was early to bed.

It almost gets stuck in his throat, trips too-fast off his tongue, and then it’s there, hanging in the air in the middle of the room.

_I’m gay._

“Oh, Thor,” Frigga says, soft, careful. “My darling.”

Slowly, Odin moves a cushion from between them, pats the space left behind. “Come,” he says.

Thor’s across the room in two strides, crying before he knows it, folding immediately into his mother’s arms.

She holds him while he shakes.

“Bloody musical theatre,” Odin says, laying a hand on his shoulder, and Thor snorts weepily against his mum’s shoulder.

-

They let him stay home on Monday, neither of them fussing when he spends the entire morning in bed.

He texts Sif to tell her that he did it, he told them.

She responds with three heart emojis and a gif of a rainbow flag waving in the wind.

-

Back at school the following day nothing has changed, of course. Thor has made a monumental step in his personal life and, yet, the sun remains in the sky, the bells still ring shrill and the general populace continue to shuffle through the halls with a low drone like worker bees.

Heimdall kicks at the common room vending machine when his chocolate bar sticks, gritting his teeth unhappily when his violence rattles free a small packet of raisins instead.

He still eats them, coming to perch on the seat-back beside where Thor is pretending to read his physics book.

“You ready to talk yet?” he says, patiently enough.

When Thor looks up, Heimdall is inspecting his snack with a disappointed frown rather than levelling him with any look of expectation.

Slowly, Thor closes his book.

“Sure,” he says. There’s nobody else around. “Okay.”

-

“You have to get him back,” Heimdall says later, walking the other side of Sif. “He’s dramatic as fuck so it’s going to require a big gesture.”

Sif smacks him on the arm. “Don’t pressure him.”

“No, but,” Heimdall argues back, looking between the two of them like he can’t believe his support is getting him told off. “You came out for this guy, Thor. That’s big. Do you know how big that is?”

Thor could laugh - he’s well aware of how big it is.

“He came out for _himself_ ,” Sif says pointedly. “And not to everyone, so you’d do well to talk a little quieter.”

There’s nobody around and Heimdall expresses as much with a side-long glance and a wide gesture.

He eyes Thor over Sif’s head.

“You came out for Loki Laufeyson,” he says pointedly.

And Thor nods. He kind of did, didn’t he?

-

He doesn’t take Heimdall’s enthusiastic advice about the big gesture. He’d tried that on the night of the show, put himself out there in a bigger way than he’d ever intended, and it didn’t exactly convince Loki.

Instead, he opts for a quiet gesture.

A little too quiet, it seems.

He goes to the cafe every day after school, sits with his Course Work and a little hope flickering away in his chest.

He asks the staff to light a candle for his table, even though it’s still light outside every time he arrives.

He’s there for three days, from end of school until closing, with no sign of Loki.

He starts to wonder if Loki really ever did study there alone, or whether maybe it was just a convenient location chosen as an excuse to spend time in Thor’s company.

Then Thursday rolls around.

He’s got his head in a book, not school work this time, when the bell goes. Like muscle memory now, he looks up at the sound.

And there’s Loki, backlit by the dim light of the evening sun. His long legs carry him to the counter in four strides, and Thor swallows down an urge to call out hastily for him.

Instead, he stares at the back of Loki’s head; the way his hair curls a little at the nape of his neck, the visible edge of his jaw as he tilts his chin to peruse the overhead menu. Watches as eventually he shrugs and orders just a coffee. No sweet treat.

Thor’s a little way into a fantasy of Loki’s eyes going soft with surprise when he spots him, running through the laundry list of things he needs to apologise for, when the bell goes again.

It’s Eric - flanked by two younger reserve boys rather than his usual friends from the team.

It’s clear the moment he spots Loki, the way his mouth twists into a cruel little smile.

Thor feels his knuckles creak as his fists clench.

They head for the counter, slow and measured like stalking lions. Loki is waiting on his coffee and doesn’t offer them a second glance even when the barista acknowledges them.

Eric, though, barely looks away from Loki even as he makes his order, and once he’s paid he sidles over to Loki’s side, leaning casually on the dark wooden countertop.

“I, ah, thought you looked really nice in your makeup on those posters, Loki,” he says, mouth twisted unpleasantly even as he pretends to be nice. “Could almost mistake you for a real girl.”

The other two laugh into their hands like a pair of naughty kids and Eric’s face breaks into a pleased smirk at the sound, though he neither looks or backs away from Loki.

Thor feels his blood pressure rise, a flush of anger climbing up his neck, and presses his palms to the table, ready to stand. Ready to go pour a cup of iced coffee over Masterson’s head and then punch him in his smug milky mouth-

But then he watches as Loki slowly turns his head, face inches from Eric’s, mouth morphing into a smile of his own.

It’s not a nice smile - not the kind of smile he reserves for those he likes or is feeling generous towards - but a clever fake, completely devoid of real friendliness.

“We have plenty of leftover leaflets if you need one for your wank-bank, Derek,” he says, far too casual for such a put-down.

The two younger boys at Eric’s side don’t quite manage to stifle their surprised laughter, and Eric nearly growls, gritting his teeth and squaring his shoulders.

Thor readies himself to stand again, just in case.

“It’s _Eric_ ,” Masterson grits out, clearly far more wounded by the misnaming than the insinuation.

Loki takes his coffee - in a to-go cup, Thor notices - and spares Eric another entirely uninterested glance.

“I don’t care,” he says, with a flat, bored smile.

The other two laugh again, properly this time, falling into each other and not even stopping when Eric turns his snarl on them.

It’s a perfect take-down, calculated with precision to hit Eric right in his incredibly vulnerable ego.

Thor’s wearing an impressed little smile when Loki finally spots him, steps faltering.

They exchange a long, quiet look, full of that same tension. Then, gently, Thor kicks out the chair across from him in invitation.

The scrape of it against the floor attracts the attention of some of the other patrons, including Masterson who scoffs.

Thor offers him a brief nod of acknowledgement. “Derek,” he says, loudly.

The poor barista chooses that moment to announce Masterson’s order is ready, and he snatches the to-go up without so much as a murmur of thanks and disappears out the jingling door, leaving his cronies behind to wait for their own.

Sliding his eyes back to Loki’s, Thor smiles, thoroughly entertained by the whole thing.

The smile he receives in return - slow and bright - is, Thor is absolutely sure, one of the real ones that Loki reserves for friends.

It gives him hope.

Then Loki’s there, settling into the proffered chair.

“How did you know I’d be here?” he enquires much too coolly, though he’s still smiling.

“Oh, I didn’t. I just hoped,” Thor shrugs, letting his gaze pass across each tiny detail of Loki’s face for a reaction. “And yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that.”

Loki raises a brow. Thor has really, really missed that look.

“Am I supposed to be impressed?” Loki says, lifting the lid of his cup to blow down into the coffee. Steam escapes visibly from the little gap.

Thor eyes Loki’s pursed lips. He’s missed those too.

He shrugs, leans closer, elbows on the table. He thinks if he shuffled closer to the table their knees would brush. “Are you?”

Loki looks away, almost turning in his seat, as though he’d turn his head 180 degrees like an owl if he could. In order to hide his obvious smile.

Joy bubbles up in Thor’s stomach and he leans back in his chair, making no secret of how pleased he is with himself.

When Loki looks back to him, there’s a familiar tut and an eye roll too. “Oh I don’t know what you’re looking so thrilled about.”

He places his cup down, fiddling with the lid. On and off, on and off. Like he’s considering. Then he lifts his chin, meets Thor’s eyes.

“I’m willing to concede to a...careful friendship,” he says.

It’s not clear to Thor in that moment whether or not Loki means it, whether or not he really has blown his only chance of more, but he finds that he couldn’t stamp down his grin if he tried.

He wants this, in whichever shape it takes.

He hopes for more, will continue to hope for more, but just having Loki look at him like this; without hurt in his eyes, without distrust...it’s enough.

“I accept,” he says, holding out a hand to seal the deal. “I heartily accept.”

They shake on it, both nodding very formally about the whole thing and making themselves laugh. Then, without letting go, Thor lowers their hands to rest in the middle of the table beside the flickering candle, gives Loki's handle a gentle squeeze.

And Loki doesn’t pull away.

-


End file.
